New York New York
by Botticelli50
Summary: Post 5.5. A year has passed and suddenly out of the blue Harry receives a coded postcard from Ruth urging him to meet her in New York.
1. Chapter 1

**Fanfic MI5/Spooks**

**New York New York**

Obviously this is a work of fiction that has no links with Kudos or it would be better written! Neither do I have any claim to the characters or 5.5 would not have ended as it did. This is my first attempt at fanfic, inspired by all your efforts on this forum, so be gentle with me!! The next chapter will be more adult so be forewarned.

* * *

_Scene: Imagine the beginning of a Spooks episode with the opening shot of a jumbo jet thundering down the runway at night with the lights flaring in the camera and the runway glistening in the rain. The lift off of the plane cuts to a view of London at night from the air._

_An air hostess walks down the First Class accommodation to a lone figure seated near the front – _

_"Can I help you sir". (The camera passes from the back view of a man's head with close cut curling blond hair that we see has receded at the front as the camera pans around to a side view revealing Harry in a dark grey suit with open neck shirt and a velvet-collared coat resting on the seat next to him on which is neatly folded a grey woven silk tie)_

(The rest of the story will be more a straightforward narrative as I think the continuous camera directions will be too intrusive, but hopefully you get an idea of the scene)

"Yes, a single malt, no make that a Bourbon, as we are flying to the land of the free".

This was said with a sardonic tone and a slight ironic twist of Harry's pouting full lips that would only have been noticeable to those who knew him well. The air hostess sashayed efficiently back to her post.

"Definitely some potential male totty on board tonight" she said to her rather camp companion as they busied themselves opening and shutting metal lockers.

"Oh you mean Orlando Bloom in the VIP area"

"Oh no, far too much of a pretty boy for me, no I mean the smouldering dish down on the right aisle sitting on his own".

The 'smouldering dish' however had other things on his mind than pretty vacuous air hostesses – he'd had several decades of avoiding Barbie-doll look-a-like honytraps to be lured in by her brittle manicured charms.

Harry reached into his breast-pocket and brought out an unremarkable postcard with a rather tasteless sentimental picture of a white terrier and a grey tabby cat sitting on a bench together. He turned it over and read again the brief cryptic message written in a script that made his stomach churn over at its familiarity, even now on the umpteenth reading:

_My Spirit rather than yours. Eat where mobile food entertains lonely guests. If not then seek a bed where the Duke would feel at home._

"_Look like the innocent flower_

_But be the serpent under it"_

So typical of Ruth – to blend personal detail with literary reference to make her meaning plain only to him. His heart started to palpitate at the thought that he might see her again after 12 long miserable months, when like the Giant's Garden, his life had been empty, dark and with no hope of renewal. He had searched his mail expectantly every day since she left, even though he knew that she would not compromise him by any direct contact, yet when the postcard finally came it caught him unawares. He had almost binned it along with the usual junk mail of garish adverts for pizzas he never would order and Saga holidays which made him physically shudder to contemplate. Catching sight of the familiar hand writing he had felt his heart literally stop when he realised the significance of what was in his hand. He had told Ruth in that heated passionate moment in the corridor after her encounter with Angela he was a man who was capable of strong emotions but that to be a successful spook, agents had to learn to control and channel their feelings. At the same time as dolling out this lecture to Ruth, he had struggled very hard to control his own desires; the atmosphere between them had been electric and he had had to fight an overwhelming desire to pull her to him and kiss her soft lips that trembled with emotion only inches from his face. In the succeeding weeks it was an image that kept returning to him as he sat in his glass Olympus – at least it would have been his private space if his operatives didn't spend their entire day barging through the door without knocking. Ruth had been the worst offender – a habit that was born of her impetuous enthusiasm for communicating some new vital information she had uncovered, but which rapidly became an expression of their mutual respect, friendship and increasingly, unspoken desire. Back in his kitchen, with the postcard quivering in his hand he seemed very far from a man in control of his emotions.

God in Heaven how he loved her! He had never realised until she disappeared on that miserable boat on that cold dank morning by the Thames, how true the expression 'love-sick' was. He not only felt emotionally bereft but he had a churning sick feeling in the base of his stomach and a pain in his chest that he put down to the stress and anxiety of pitting his career and wits against Oliver Mace, but which he knew no amount of R & R would rectify. Everyone at some stage in their life experiences grief and develops strategies to cope with living with it; but knowing that Ruth was out there somewhere alone or perhaps even worse, creating a new life of which he was not a part, kept eating away at his conscious hours and preoccupying his dreams. His obsession with Ruth betrayed a weakness that made him vulnerable and vulnerability was not a luxury that MI5 Heads of Department could afford and yet by the same token it was only when he thought of her that he felt alive and happy. He was on that plane heading for New York not simply because the very fact that Ruth had contacted him so urgently meant that there was something seriously wrong and most likely connected with National Security, for she would never risk communicating if it was simply a personal crisis; but also because he was not going to let this one opportunity to find her and if at all possible in some form keep her in his life, pass him by. Harry was a good and moral man but when needs be he could also be ruthless, decisive and dangerous and he sensed that all three strengths might be called into play before his visit to New York was finished. Ruth's quote from Macbeth only served to sharpen the awareness of an operative who had been renowned for his ability to think on his feet and to step out of the box without hesitation when the occasion demanded.

"Your bourbon sir".

Harry's mind snapped back into the here and now.

"Would you like me to bring you anything else?" – the air hostess's voice was honeyed and dripping with erotic suggestion.

"Not that I want" he said acidly. He might have added "Except perhaps a beautiful face of bewitching demeanour with expressive grey eyes, a sensuous mouth and a sweet low voice, in other words a matchless package about as far as it is possible to get from your plastic obvious vulgar charms" but as Harry wanted to keep an unobtrusive profile and as Ruth was definitely not listed as an available item on the BA in-flight entertainment brochure, he kept quiet.

Harry dozed in his seat for most of the flight, hoping to minimise the jet lag at the other end, as he would need all his powers of concentration and physical strength to locate Ruth and deal with whatever crisis she had uncovered. Before absenting himself from Thames House he had taken Adam into his confidence, both as an emergency contact should things become difficult in 'The Big Apple', particularly, if as he suspected, it would involve their transatlantic cousins in the various Bureaus and also to cover his tracks and field any awkward enquiries about his absence. Their official cover story was that Harry had been diagnosed with stress-induced high blood pressure and ordered complete rest and recuperation at a spa for at least a week. He had taken a passport in the name of Charles Pointer that he had never used before and Adam had accompanied him to Heathrow to make sure that he passed unobserved by MI6 security checks on the way out. He had little worry about being spotted entering the US; the CIA and FBI were so paranoid about Middle Eastern terrorists at the moment that anyone of obvious anglo-saxon origins hardly warranted a second glance.

Harry passed through airport security at JFK, scowling at the rude and inefficient staff who frisked him and repeated asked him inane questions in slow drawling tones about the reasons for his visit the USA – it was a far cry from his usual cosseted progress in chaffeur-driven sound-proofed cars, although still more pleasurable than being flung in a prison cage and doused with petrol as he had experienced in the recent past at the hands of the rogue Head of MI6 ! Finally he sat down heavily in the back of a yellow taxi and gave the address of a discreet and comfortable hotel in downtown Manhattan. Ruth's veiled references to possible meeting points suggested to him the Chaplin Cafe in Greenwich Village (although his lack of familiarity with New York had necessitated using Google to work that one out) and the Duke of Wellington apartment block in Soho; although he would book in there under an assumed name, only if the first rendez-vous was unsuccessful.

Harry unpacked his bag, showered – luxuriating in the opulent if somewhat vulgar facilities of his hotel room and then changed into what passed for smart casuals in Harry's conservative wardrobe: beige chinos, check Aquascutum shirt with V neck blue cashmere jumper that slightly stretched over his expanding waistline and calf-leather lace-up boots. Placing his wallet deep in a hidden pocket of his casual jacket he stepped purposefully out into the hazy sunshine of the New York morning. The earliest he could hope to meet up with Ruth was lunchtime even supposing his guess at the rendez-vous was correct, but Harry was too impatient to wait passively for her to find him - he had a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

_**NEW YORK, NEW YORK**_

_**Chapter 2**_

"Where would a woman of Ruth's abilities and interests head for in a strange city, needing obscurity and a means of earning a living? Where would she blend in without drawing attention to her accent or her intellect? She would need an environment that was discreet and where she could feel secure – where would she find that in a buzzing metropolis like New York?" These had been the questions that had been chasing round in Harry's head since he had formulated his plan to be more proactive in his search for Ruth. He had come up with several possibilities but top of his list were museums and of those there was one in particular that ticked all the boxes in terms of Ruth's cultural and logistical needs. Brooklyn Museum was a neglected, vast cavern of a building situated on the outer reaches of New Jersey that was not on the tourist trail but possessed a world renown research library with an extensive collection of Greek, Roman and Ancient Middle Eastern Antiquities. Populated by scholars from all over the world with an array of accents Ruth could disappear in such a rambling institution without difficulty. As a betting man Harry would set odds of at least 2:1 on, that Brooklyn Museum would a have figured as a possibility for Ruth when she first arrived frightened and disorientated in New York. It certainly seemed worth investigating in the spare 3 hours he had before lunchtime.

The taxi-driver took some convincing that Harry really knew where he wanted to go. The kind-hearted suggestions of the Empire State Building, Guggenheim Museum & Statue of Liberty proffered in broad Brooklyn tones were rebuked in a gruff manner by the man who was impatient even by New York standards. After 5 minutes of haggling Harry's eyes narrowed with exasperation and he barked orders at the hapless driver:

"Brooklyn Museum in 15 minutes or I'll have your licence recinded".

Harry sprang out of the taxi that eventually pulled up in front of a large, rather dismal gothic brick edifice standing in the centre of a vast featureless green park which sloped away gradually towards a grey horizon. He passed like a shadow into the recesses of the museum. At the height of his career as a field operative Harry Pearce had had the reputation of being an agent par excellence at counter-surveillance. It was a good few years since his life, and the lives of other operatives, had depended on his quick reflexes and ability to think on his feet; but even Danny would have found it a challenge to keep track of him as he melted into the vast gloomy interior of Brooklyn Museum.

Harry quickly located the entrance to the archive, which he imagined would be a likely point to observe the comings and goings of the academic staff attached to the premises. It was accessed through a discreet door located in the corner of a dark oak-panelled room that was lined with bookcases of leather-bound volumes and which also contained an array of glass cabinets displaying ceramics, bronzes, medals, objet d'art and an impressive selection of illuminated manuscripts. Harry hovered in the shadows, examining the contents of a display case of small Renaissance bronzes, a vantage point that was beyond the scope of the CCTV camera positioned above his head, but at the same time gave a clear sight-line to the archive entrance. Harry was used to playing the long game of waiting and observing that characterised surveillance work and he was prepared to be patient and yet everytime the door of the archive opened his heart beat faster. Bespectacled grey figures in jeans and scruffy jumpers and an array of vaguely ethnic clothing drifted in and out clutching folders and battered boxes for what seemed like an eternity, until suddenly a mirage appeared framed in the doorway. For a fraction of a second Harry wondered if he was hallucinating, but the slight figure weighed down by books and folders was unmistakeable: a curtain of dark brown hair fell over her pale cheek, partly obscuring her strikingly beautiful features – huge luminous grey-blue eyes and plump cupid's bow lips glossed in deep red lipstick. Harry felt his heart constrict and his stomach turn somersaults. Ruth had once teased him that he was not of this world because he was a reincarnation of a Piero della Francesca angel; but in fact it was she who resembled a Renaissance angel or perhaps rather one of those mysterious sultry female portraits by Leonardo.

Affection, love, desire, trepidation, happiness, all raced through Harry's mind in the 20 seconds it took Ruth to barge through the archive door and scurry across the gallery towards the archway that led towards the Mesopotemia Galleries. Harry smiled broadly to himself and mentally unlocked the door behind which he had buried his hurt and pain and longing, following their anguished farewell almost a year before. Ruth was no longer a bitter memory of lost opportunities and sadness at a blighted future, but was here and now and for whatever reason, in whatever circumstances, still needed him.

Harry was still in his reverie of relief and desire when he became aware of being observed. Refocusing he saw a pair of soft expressive eyes gazing at him through the glass of the cabinet and over an exquisite miniature gilded bronze figure of David slaying Goliath.

"You're not as invisible as you would like to think Harry. I hope you haven't been followed" The warm dulcet tones caressed his ear but Harry was in no mood to play cat and mouse with a tender but triumphant Ruth whose eyes were shining with mischief as well as love.

"Come with me now" he growled at her in his customary 'one who must be obeyed' voice, but with eyes so full of emotion and desire that she felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart beat so fiercely she felt she would faint.

"I don't work for you anymore Harry I'm no longer required to obey orders"

"I remember you dying not resigning" retorted Harry "Follow me or I'll carry you out of this damn library".

Appealing as the image was of being scooped up in Harry's arms, Ruth didn't think it was conducive with keeping a low profile and so she hissed at Harry

"Wait by the Titian in the next gallery whilst I get rid of these files – you should feel at home there – it's full of cherubs throwing their weight around!"

Harry felt both elated and disconcerted by Ruth's apparent composure. A natural leader and alpha male, he was accustomed to lead a team from the front, to be in control, making life and death decisions that could have consequences for his colleagues as well as his country. Ruth had always had the ability to undermine that confidence by her very presence and also by the range and power of her intellect and her frequent disregard for his seniority. As he stood staring up at the image of a naked serene Venus on a pedestal surrounded by hundreds of plump naked gambling wrestling cupids, Harry recalled another occasion when she had put him on the back foot. He had confidentially enlisted her help to prepare for a high powered interview after he had been invited to apply for the position of Director General of the Security Services. Flattered but also unsure as to whether he wanted such a political desk-bound job, Harry nevertheless wanted to make certain that he put on a commendable performance at interview. Ruth had relished the opportunity to turn the tables on him and had been startlingly probing with her direct insistent questions, cutting through his ambiguous replies with rapier precision and exposing the weaknesses in his line of argument. Shyness and hesitancy vanished in her desire to provide a realistic interview scenario and Harry had been left feeling defenceless and not a little foolish. He had abruptly terminated her interrogation on the pretext of the pressing needs of the current operation but in fact she had successfully challenged him with questions that were prescient of the interview he was later to face and which revealed another facet of her personality that only served to enhance his admiration for her abilities and focused character.

Harry had expected Ruth to be flustered and distressed by his unexpected appearance in the museum and yet she appeared calm and in control. The reality however was somewhat different. Ruth was so overwhelmed by the fleeting vision of the familiar sensual face that had been briefly glimpsed half in shadow as she dashed along preoccupied with ancient dead languages, that she thought she was going to collapse on the floor in front of him. She had spent the last 12 months carrying round with her a clear image of his expressive, soft, fleshy features and suddenly they were again a physical reality.

Ruth grabbed her thick wool coat and knitted scarf from her chair and called on all her self-control not to run out of the archive, across the polished wooden floor and fling herself into the arms of the man she adored, who had travelled across an ocean on the flimsy evidence of her kitsh postcard. Perhaps it was curiosity that had drawn him or a need to silence her, but she knew that the reality was that he loved her. He had been prepared to give up position and liberty to save her; he had made repeated attempts in those last weeks to cross the line and risk his job and his reputation to declare his feelings for her – the expression of desire and pain that had filled his eyes following her rejection of his advances had haunted her constantly in the succeeding months but at least it had emboldened her to reveal her feelings in the parting caress she had given him on that desolate morning. Alone and disorientated in a strange city, the images of Harry and the knowledge of his regard for her had been the one positive that she had clung to to keep her sanity although by the same token the thought of a future without him plunged her into greater sadness and despair that any recollection of the life and home she had been forced to abandon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning this might be considered X rated by some as it has adult content**

_**New York New York chapter 3**_

Harry felt his arm squeezed and sensed the physical presence of a ghost who had shadowed his waking hours since Mace had conspired to ruin their lives. They walked together towards the main entrance of the museum, both with a heightened sense of the other's presence and anticipation of what lay before them.

Harry could not bear the suspense any longer, could not wait for the conventional privacy of the backseat of a car or the inside of a hotel room – he pulled Ruth towards him into the shadows of the oak-panelled gallery and kissed her soft yielding lips. His breath coming in panting sighs, one broad hand caressed her cheek and neck whilst the other drew her head closer into his passionate and urgent embrace. A very different sensation to the subdued bitter-sweet sadness of their first kiss, Ruth now felt herself sinking into his burning desire as his face blended with hers, his tongue filled her mouth and his hand moved down and squeezed and massaged her bottom.

"Oh God Harry" she gasped as her legs buckled underneath her "we can't do this here".

Harry's response was to push her further into the shadows hidden by the tall mystic Egyptian sarcophagi that lined the walls of the room. Without knowing quite how they got there, Ruth felt Harry's fingers inside her "Oh God" she moaned again as waves of pulsating urges closed over her and she sank against his body. Years of repressed desire and secret fantasies swept over them both as the Head of Section D and his former Intelligence Analyst lay on the hard floor of the empty echoing museum and made love ecstatically and with a total lack of awareness of their surroundings. For Ruth it was an ephiphany – never had she felt such desire, such fulfilment, an absolute fusion of the physical and the emotional. When Harry penetrated her warm hidden interior, both felt that nothing before had equalled the combination of passion and tenderness. The fact that Harry proved to be a well-endowed, passionate and thoughtful lover and Ruth a responsive erotic partner only urged them into a state of enhanced intensity. Harry's hand bore down on her mouth, smothering her moans as he climaxed inside her.

A blissful post-coital calm was rapidly succeeded by an awareness of the disastrous consequences of their being discovered in such a compromising position.

"I don't want to appear a 'stuff it and leg it' male, my love but I think we need to get out of her PDQ".

A dazed, smiling Ruth pulled her knickers up and her skirt down whilst Harry tried to retain as much dignity as was possible for a middle-aged man with his trousers round his ankles in a public place. Ruth glanced sideways at him and giggled seductively

"If only the members of the Grid could see you now".

Harry gave her a mock-severe pouting stare but his eyes were soft and amorous.

"A little more respect please Ruth, I may not be your boss anymore but there's no need to be rude"

"Oh I think we're a little beyond a professional relationship now Harry – we're in unchartered territory".

Harry grasped Ruth's head gently between his hands and kissed her tenderly.

"I couldn't agree with you more Miss Evershed"

"Oh please call me Jane, the name's Jane Alcestis Pearce"

Harry recalled that at the time, even in the midst of his agony he had been amused by Adam's erudite sense of humour in the new identity he had created for Ruth – Alcestis had been the wife of Admetus who had sacrificed herself to save her husband and had been immortalised by Ruth's favourite classical playwright Euripides in his work "Alcestis".

"Glad to make your acquaintance Ms Pearce"

said Harry with a sardonic smirk and a stress on the word acquaintance.

"My name's Charles, now shall he cut the social niceties and get the hell out of here?"

"I recall you once saying that you liked the niceties Harry its what saves us from tyranny"

"Please don't remind me of that snake Mace or I'm likely to break something which might hinder our solving whatever problem led you to contacting me."

Harry's words brought Ruth painfully back to the reality of why she had written on the back of that silly postcard she had spotted on the side of a hotdog stand and had kept propped against her bedside table for months in front of the photo of the beautiful and unique man who had just that moment so unexpectedly thrown caution to the wind and allowed his desires to gain the upper hand and was now once again kissing her with full malleable exploring lips before he released her and stepped purposefully out across the gallery ahead of her

"Like a determined teddy bear" Ruth thought to herself fondly "with his damp curly blond hair, stocky rotund body and that slight swagger as he walks ". For Harry actually never 'walked' anywhere, his intent always seemed to be more urgent and translated into a purposeful military gait that gave him no problem in keeping up with his longer-legged associates of the British Security Services; neither did his more modest height, standing alongside the 6'plus public school boys ever cause him to be intimidated, but rather one glance at the set bull-dog expression on his face was usually enough to cause even the most reptilian specimens to quail at the prospect of a showdown with Harry Pearce.

Ruth's small battered Japanese car was parked around the rear of the building. It amused her to see her VIP guest squeezing his bulk into the narrow utilitarian passenger seat. She glanced sideways at him

"Not quite a Lexus in accommodation or performance I'm afraid Harry".

"Yes but the chauffeur is a vast improvement" retorted Harry with a gentle smile.

Ruth focused on the task that lay ahead and jamming the automatic stork into Drive shot out of the entrance onto the main road without looking left or right. Harry made a mental note to take over the driving at the first opportunity. If he had to be hospitalised in the good old US of A he didn't want it to be before the operation, whatever the operation was, had begun.


	4. Chapter 4

_**New York, New York**_

_**Chapter 4**_

Ruth's small hands gripped the sides of the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles were drained of blood. Harry glanced anxiously at her. He had never been with her before when she was behind the wheel and therefore he wasn't sure whether this was her normal modus operandi where cars were concerned or whether her agitation was symptomatic of inner turmoil. He was about to suggest that she might prefer him to drive when she turned the wheel suddenly causing the car to swerve sharply to the right as she pulled into a deserted picnic area screened behind tall trees. Harry waited patiently for her to break the tense silence that had hung between them after she turned off the ignition and stared out of the windscreen as though he wasn't there.

The waiting seemed like an eternity to Harry, who was becoming increasingly agitated that Ruth's silence might be connected to the love-making they had just shared – he shouldn't have grabbed her that way in the place where she had sought sanctuary – was she regretting it already, was it just going to put up barriers between them at the very moment that he felt they had finally bridged the divide between desire and action, Oh God don't say that she was going to clam up on him again – stupid, stupid, stupid, why the hell hadn't he controlled himself, he could hardly claim to be a hormonally driven 20 year old again and yet that is how he had felt, but coupled with an overwhelming emotional tenderness that was a new experience. Ruth sensing Harry's distress turned to meet his agitated eyes and pursed lips and his physical proximity combined with the need to communicate vital and complex information rendered her as inarticulate as she had been time and time again on the Grid .

"Um Harry …. (pause) … the thing is …. No the reason …."

Harry couldn't take the suspense any longer

"Oh Ruth I'm so very sorry, I didn't intend to behave like that I swear, please don't retreat from me" Ruth looked puzzled at him

"Retreat Harry, I don't understand"

"Retreat, no I don't mean retreat, it's just an expression, what I mean is that" Harry sighed and took her hand "I love you Ruth more than I thought it was possible to feel and I don't want anything to come between us again, especially as a consequence of my damn thoughtlessness" Light began to dawn on Ruth and she put her finger to his lips

"Don't be silly Harry this isn't about you – not everything is (said with the faintest lift of the corner of her lips) – I'm not a child, I loved every minute of what has just happened – but there are terrible things going to occur I am sure of it and I know you're not going to believe me and I don't know what to do to convince you … you didn't believe me over Cotterdam and look at the awful thing that happened between us and this is far worse and will be far worse and I know the same thing will happen and even if it doesn't and even if you believe me then still nothing will be done in time and it will be my fault …"

Ruth became increasingly agitated, her face was flushed and she was babbling incoherently. Harry recognised the signs, he had stared calmly into that serious anxious face so many times across the desk in his office, a face that communicated a conflicting range of emotions – triumph at having uncovered some vital information combined with worry at what implications this information could have and whose lives would be put in danger as a consequence. The inevitable result was that Ruth's normally quiet measured tones were replaced by floundering disjointed sound-bites that poured from her mouth discordantly and often without a pause for breadth. Harry had learnt from experience that he needed to look past the incoherent flustered exterior and discover what was at the heart of Ruth's concerns because she did always have something of import to communicate and very often it had been her revelations that had turned the tide of a crucial op. It was not so much, Harry ruefully reflected, a need to interpret a stream of consciousness as it was like trying to decipher a message sent on a mobile phone with a weak signal where only every third word was picked up. Now Ruth was still babbling but the more she said the less was communicated:

"a boat to Staten Island …. Well you can't stay all the time …. 2 men … anyway it reminds me of the Thames, well not exactly the Thames obviously because its not a river but even so ….. well coffee, I always have coffee …. But they weren't acting normally, not like tourists but he was dressed like a tourist if a tourist wears plaid trousers which they probably only do in Stratford …."

Harry loved her dearly but he couldn't take anymore and retain his sanity. He grasped her by the shoulders put his finger gently on her lips and said very firmly

"OK Ruth, take a breath and slowly, calmly and preferably in a few words, tell me what happened – I can't help unless I have a clear idea of what's troubling you". Ruth's heart sank as Harry assumed the rational, conciliatory, slightly patronising tone with her that he used when he felt she was being over emotive and irrational. The same tone he had used to her when she told him she believed the Head of Cotterdam prison was an innocent man. Then he had smiled at her like he was doing now – with the same smile people usually reserved for small children and imbeciles. Then he had appeared to sympathise and told her she needed rest and shouldn't worry – and look at the mess they had got into as a result. She had to cut through his sense of superior male logic and this time make him see that she wasn't hallucinating or exaggerating; he HAD to understand the grave nature of the information she had uncovered.

Resisting the temptation to gain his attention by throwing her mineral water over him which in his eyes would place her in the same camp as the cerebrally (at least to Harry) challenged Sam; she took a deep breadth and said in calm measured tones:

"Alright Harry, I will try to stay calm but you in turn have to listen carefully and take seriously what I am going to tell you no matter how far-fetched it sounds. Yes I'm terrified by what I think is going to happen in the very near future if we cannot put a stop to it but I'm neither irrational nor delusional so please don't treat me like a Victorian husband confronting his unstable hormonal wife before he has her committed to the asylum. I almost wish it was Adam sitting here with me he's more willing to go out on a limb than you are Harry."

Harry pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes and frowned at her.

"Good, now I've bruised your ego I hope I've got your full attention! I'm certain there is a plot to organise the assassination of a member of the Royal Family by Muslim extremists in the UK".

"Ruth" Harry interrupted "at any one time there are at least half a dozen such plots what makes this any different?"

Ruth glared at him, she was not even off the starting block and he was dismissing her discovery

"Firstly – if you'll give me a chance to tell you – this plot isn't being hatched in the UK but over here. There is some form of right-wing splinter group, which must be CIA protected, that is behind it ,they are planning a major hit in London with the objective of implicating the Muslim community."

"Thereby achieving what for American Foreign Policy?" asked Harry in a slightly exasperated tone. He was ecstatically happy to have found Ruth again and to have at long last achieved intimacy with her and he hoped a future together, but the pretext under which she had brought him over here seemed more farfetched by the minute. Despite the look of anger that was beginning to cloud Ruth's features he ploughed on

"I know I am the first to be prepared to think the worst of any action of our American cousins, but precisely what would be the advantage to a bunch of rednecks of boosting membership of the BNP and cutting the Civil List in the UK – the turmoil that would ensue might take the eye of the American voter off the ball in terms of their President's blunders but it would hardly have any impact on the outcome in Iraq , even a tragedy on such a scale would not halt the inevitable withdrawal and what else would the American Right have to gain from a destabilised Britain?"

Ruth becoming equally exasperated with Harry, interrupted him:

"Don't you see Harry, the PM is being forced to climb down over Iraq yes, but there is the bigger question of Iran. The British public has no stomach for another round of body bags and tax rises or the conception of us continuing to hold onto the coattails of the US military in the Middle East. The assassination of a senior member of the Establishment by a Muslim would not only ferment a serious backlash against liberal tolerance of the Islamic cause but would give a powerful weapon to the lobbyists in Washington and London who favour a bullish interventionist approach to Iran with or without UN agreement".

"Alright, alright" said Harry, holding up his hands in mock surrender and smiling at her to break the growing hostility between them

"But how exactly did you come across this information in your ivory-tower back there, it's hardly the Pentagon?"

"Precisely" said Ruth triumphantly with a gleam in her eye and a happy smile dancing on her lips "I was assigned to re-label some of the exhibits in the classical antiquities section that had been incorrectly translated in the 1890's when they were first catalogued"

Harry mentally patted himself on the back for his correct intuition, he knew as soon as he had read the description of Brooklyn Museum that it would have offered intellectual and physical sanctuary to Ruth, he just wished that she would focus her communication skills and try to give him just the salient information as to how she had uncovered the plot before they both froze in their seats, as the sun had long since disappeared and there was now grey rain lashing against the windows of the little car. Meanwhile Ruth burbled on

" …. it is very interesting how many of these artefacts have been erroneously ascribed. Anyway last Tuesday I had just started on the case of small Archaic Greek bronzes when I noticed these two men acting suspiciously. They were casing out the gallery and they were carrying earpieces and packing guns – they just had to be CIA and they looked top draw operatives. They were obviously waiting for someone but why in such an out of the way place like Brooklyn? They must have received a message because they suddenly went out towards the main entrance"

"So you what, breathed a sigh of relief and went on cataloguing?" said Harry sarcastically in a tone that implied that of course that is what she should have done but being 'a born spook' had not been able to resist the temptation to follow them.

"Well obviously not, otherwise you wouldn't be here"

"For which I suppose I ought to be eternally grateful – that you decided to follow two armed and highly trained operatives on your own without backup and without any idea of what they were doing when you were meant to be keeping as low a profile as possible"

Harry's eyes gazed at her with growing horror as it dawned on him how close she could have come to ending up on a mortuary slab for real.

"Now you listen to me Ruth, even though I knew it wasn't actually the case I have never received a more disturbing phone call than the one that came through to my office that morning telling me that the body of Ruth Evershed had been discovered and could I please come down to the mortuary to confirm your identity I never want to go through that as a charade or for real ever again do you hear me – you are never, ever again to put yourself in mortal danger not in front of a gun, not by following professional killers God knows where doing God knows what"

"I do love it when you're masterful" Ruth caught sight of the expression on Harry's face and was penitent

"All right Harry I promise, but you weren't there and I was and I just sensed that something wasn't right. It was easy enough to follow them because they were not expecting to be under surveillance out in the sticks and were preoccupied with finding their way back to Manhattan – I heard them discussing the quickest way down to the ferry from New Jersey to Staten Island so I knew where they were headed and what the registration of their car was. All I had to do was take a short cut, park the car and get on the ferry. I like travelling on that ferry anyway – it reminds me of the barges and boats on the Thames and I go down there most days that I am not working, drink coffee and just think of old friends"

here she paused and smiled gently at Harry; his heart went out to her as he pictured her alone and depressed travelling backwards and forwards on the ferry dreaming of familiar faces and the life she had had to abandon in order to save him. He seized her hand and kissed her upturned palm which she lifted to stroke his cheek gently in wordless reply.

"It was easy to spot the two goons and I saw them meet up with a third man. It's_****_then that I knew something was seriously wrong Harry because I recognised the third man it was Alex Roscoe "

Harry's eyes narrowed at that information. He and Roscoe had clashed on many occasions defending the interests of their respective departments and nations - Roscoe was the CIA station chief in London, what the hell was he doing over here in clandestine meetings with Company operatives when he was meant to be managing his cohorts over the pond? Harry was now seriously focused on what Ruth had to say and his eyes hardened in anticipation of the undoubted battle that was to come if Roscoe was involved, that little weasel would make Tessa Phillips look saintly, he was capable of anything no matter what the moral or political fallout.

"How do you know what they are planning?" Harry asked wearily although he really didn't want to hear the answer

"Um .. I went in closer so that I could hear what they were saying"

"You mean with no backup and no listening equipment you approached 3 very dangerous professionals including one who could recognise you – how close did you have to bloody go to hear what they were saying?"

"Ur well actually not that close because they were arguing and raised their voices"

"You expect me to believe that these highly trained CIA operatives would be shouting their heads off about a deeply clandestine plot on a crowded boat"

" Well actually that's the thing, it wasn't exactly crowded"

At this Harry leaned towards Ruth and in a very quiet and menacing voice he said "How many people were on that boat Ruth"

"Well counting the men and myself and the crew I would say about 6, yes 6, the pilot, the assistant, the 2 men, Roscoe and myself".

Harry groaned and put his hand up to his face and rubbed it slowly as he always did when he was agitated or emotional and didn't want to reveal his feelings. He didn't know whether to shake her or just cling to her; it wasn't enough that she had repeatedly risked her life and sacrificed herself to save him by outwitting the Kraken of the British Intelligence Service Oliver Mace, she had then decided to take on the elite of the CIA single-handed and this was someone who couldn't enter a room without tripping over her own feet.

"I hid round the corner from where they were standing Harry they couldn't see me honestly"

"Well that's obvious Ruth or you would have been feeding the fishes in New York Harbour for the past week, but that doesn't detract from the fact that you stupidly put yourself in very great danger – did you stop for a moment to consider the consequences of what you were doing, you are a – sorry were – a desk spook, yes you have the intelligence and instincts to be one of the best but NOT as a field operative, you haven't had the experience and even the most adventurous field spook would not expose themselves in such a way as you've just described – trapped on a boat with 3 hostiles and no backup"

"Well from what I've heard that's precisely what you did on numerous occasions and worse in Northern Ireland"

"Yes Ruth he said patiently , precisely you have not had the same experience to be able to call judgements or deal with eventualities – what if they had discovered you and attacked you what defence could you have offered …" Harry faltered, he just didn't want to think of what so nearly could have happened.

"Anyway, do you want to hear what they said or are you going to go all fatherly and protective on me?"

This last remark shook Harry out of the spiralling anxiety of his scenario reverie.

"Excuse me young woman but my designs on you are anything but fatherly!"

Ruth smirked appreciatively before concluding her narrative:

"I didn't hear all that was said but they were arguing about someone that the 2 field officers were meant to have followed to the museum Roscoe referred to him as 'the Limey' so he was most likely English and then he said "We've got to move quickly on this one, the Guantanamo Bay stooge is being released soon, we've got to secure him, get him in place in London and sort out the logistics before he is detected by the mice at Thames House" then one of the men asked him something I didn't catch and Roscoe replied "One of the Royals, you don't have to know who just how and when, the important thing is that the stooge is not traceable as the group in Washington have to be 100 per cent deniable. Nothing can be traced back to them or the Company."

Harry's face looked decisive.

"Well done Ruth, I don't approve of the risks you took but you were right to contact me . We've got to assume that the timetable for this could be a matter of days. We've got to find out who the group behind the plot are, which is going to mean delving into the murky waters of Washington and we've somehow got to trace this Guantanamo inmate – they've got to be bringing him in clandestinely, either as an illegal immigrant or possibly on one of those damn unscheduled flights. This is going to take all our resources and more" Harry reached for his mobile and pressed in a speed dial number

"Hello yes Adam, operation Maiden in Distress successfully initiated"

Ruth snorted with indignation "I wasn't in distress and I'm certainly no longer a maiden".

Harry glared at her in mock annoyance "We have a serious situation, Ms Pearce has uncovered a CIA backed plot to broker an assassination of a member of the Royal family in London by a Guantanamo Bay detainee, as they are so quaintly referred to, and our friend Roscoe is master of ceremonies"

A long low whistle came down the phone, "sounds like you're having an interesting R&R"

"Yes well that particular subdifuge is going to have to be shared with a few more Adam because we are going to have to move fast on this one. Get Malcolm onto the CIA operations in the UK at the moment, I want to know every movement and especially any unusual comings and goings involving American special flights and Roscoe is to be tailed day and night as soon as he touches down at Heathrow – put Zaf and Jo onto it. Ros is going to have to run the Grid for now because I want you on the next flight out here and bring with you as many of Malcolm's toys as you can prize off him and make sure that he can set up a direct link to Thames House computer for Ms Pearce. We're going to have to identify which group is behind this and do a little Watergate Revisited.

"Sounds like fun" said Adam"I'll pack my bucket and spade if I'm coming to play with the big boys"

"Oh they don't get any bigger " replied Harry "Particularly as I'm going to be with you on this one"

"You Harry , you've been sitting behind a desk for too long to be operational"

"Well you'd better hope that's not true Adam because I will be watching your back as much as you will be watching mine "

Ruth sighedwith relief that she had at last been able to share her burden of knowledge and with the one person she trusted above all others to have the focus, drive and moral backbone to face their enemies, but the relief was tinged with anxiety that once again she was putting Harry in danger and now even more so if he was contemplating taking on the might of the American security forces in the dark political cesspool that is the corridors of power in Washington. She leaned back in the drivers seat ashen faced. Harry placed his phone back in his pocket and looked at her with concern.

"You look exhausted Ruth, you need to eat and sleep, I will need you at your sharpest in a few hours, you will have to man the communications between us and Malcolm and also try and hack into their inner sanctum". Ruth would have been excited to be part of an operation again at Harry's side if it wasn't for the knowledge that this time Harry intended to put himself directly in the firing line.

"I need to stop off for a change of clothes Harry at my apartment and then I know of a place that does a nice line in dancing bread rolls in Greenwich Village"

Harry smiled at her as he recalled their original restrained conversation on the rooftop of Thames House when he had finally plucked up the courage to ask her on a date outside of the confines of the Grid. How long ago that now seemed and yet emotionally this was the next step on from that date as if it had only been last week – to think that if it was not for this crisis she might never have contacted him – he supposed he had something to be grateful to Alex Roscoe for after all.

"Well fine Ruth, but I'm driving, I think I've had as much excitement for one day as a middle-aged man with jet lag and an absurdly happy heart can take".


	5. Chapter 5

_**New York, New York**_

_**Chapter 5**_

**_Warning this chapter contains passages that are adult in content._**

Ruth blended in with a group of Russian tourists who were being herded into the Palace Hotel by an overwrought, frantic guide who had already managed to mislay two of her charges en-route from the airport. The guide was going to be even more confused and depressed when she later discovered that her careful head count in the hotel foyer had not been accurate and she had in fact lost three of them. Meanwhile Harry collected his keycard from the Reception.

"You have three messages Mr Pointer"

Harry grimaced – so much for keeping a low profile. Fortunately all were impersonal, one reminded him to make use of the free mini bar facilities in his room and the other two wanted to interest him in Manhattan properties and much as he would have relished the prospect of taking apart a pushy Real Estate salesman, Harry had more pressing concerns and so he tore up the leaflets and handed them back to the Receptionist with a baleful stare.

"Have a nice day" came the automaton response

"Oh I fully intend to" replied Harry with a smile to himself.

Exiting from the lift Harry slid the electronic key firmly down the slot at the side of the door to his room. He politely stepped back to allow the chambermaid to carry in a large bundle of bedding. Kicking the door shut with his foot he took the bedding from her, flung it on the floor and slammed her up against the wall, his expression animated with desire as he gazed down at her large translucent eyes that now carried an iridescence of pale blue washed over the soft grey. He pressed his body against hers until their contours blended and she could feel him pulsating against her. Ruth gently tried to push him away at the shoulders as she fought to control the spasms that were echoing his and taking over her lower body

"Harry we have to concentrate on the operation".

Harry's reply was to grasp her hands and force them above her head and against the wall, kissing her protests to silence, kneading her lips with his. Releasing one hand he reached up inside her clothes and touched the warm undulations beneath. "I'm going to have to resort to dirty tricks" thought Ruth desperately "if we're not going to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed" "Yes Yes Yes" chanted the voice of desire in her head" but Ruth silenced it and pushed Harry's face away so that she could both breathe and talk.

"I'm sorry Harry, but without going into sordid details I need a shower after our activities in the museum. " "Of course, of course" said Harry immediately, looking as flustered as she had intended and stepping back to allow her to pass. If Ruth had not been so keen on dampening his ardour (which was, she reflected, impressive for a man of more than fifty) she would have reassured him that the state of her underwear was a turn-on, not an embarrassment. She recalled how disconcerted he had been by Jo's breezy reference to PMT's during the crisis meeting over the doctored pharmaceutical supplies. Despite having been a married man, with as she had now discovered, obviously extensive experience of intimate contact with women, yet Harry was quite reserved and old fashioned in distancing himself from the physical realities of the female experience – "definitely have to keep the tampons hidden from view in the future" thought Ruth and then mentally chastised herself "for goodness sake woman pull yourself together there is no future only here and now".

Leaving Harry standing in the entrance corridor that housed a bewildering number of heavy dark wood communicating doors, Ruth , after several false attempts identified the bedroom and carried through her overnight bag that contained the few items that she had grabbed when they called into the pokey little apartment that she rented at the undesirable end of New Jersey. Harry had insisted on leaving her car parked in its usual slot and catching taxis to Greenwich Village and then the hotel, so she had limited her haul to two changes of clothes, a wash bag and a couple of books. The haste and the secrecy had brought back painful memories of the last time she had been forced to take flight; but this time there was a very big difference, Harry was by her side and not standing stricken and alone on the dockside.

Placing her bag on the bed, Ruth picked out a matching lacy bra and pants and then put them back again as she decided that Harry certainly did not need any further encouragement to misbehave and instead took out a sensible set of camisole and pants. She decided on a fresh blouse as the current one had dust marks and crease lines – it wouldn't take the talent of Sherlock Holmes to work out what she had been doing. Ruth abhorred the thought of people, even strangers, talking about her and she certainly dreaded the good-natured but probing banter that would come from Adam if he caught sight of the evidence. Ruth picked up her washbag, retrieved one of the spare towels that Harry had deposited on the floor and after initial hesitation in front of the identical doors in a corridor that held the slight residual scent of Eau Sauvage but no longer its wearer, she correctly identified the bathroom and walked in. She undressed quickly avoiding glancing in the full length mirror and mentally prepared herself for the task of operating the complex and confusing array of controls that were bound to be awaiting her in the luxurious shower when the shower door opened and a hand reached out, grabbed her firmly by the wrist and pulled her in with one fluid movement. Ruth gasped both in shock at the manoeuvre and at the stream of warm water that cascaded down on her head.

"Harry, I am shocked and disappointed at your adolescent behaviour, a man of your age …. "

Ruth didn't finish the sentence because she had been enveloped in strong muscular arms and what breadth wasn't being squeezed out of her was being silenced by Harry's exploring tongue and sensual lips. He started to slide soaped hands up and down her body. "Ah, his soap" she thought vaguely as she identified the delicate spicy scent that normally underlay the aroma of Eau Sauvage "something discreet and expensive, probably Penhaligons". At that moment Harry's hand slipped up between her legs and she was no longer capable of coherent thought only of pure sensation and focusing on the erotic desire his massaging finger was creating. Ruth grabbed his neck to support herself as she lost control; she was only half aware of him lifting her slightly and entering her in one seamless move. The sensation of him filling her completely coupled with the hot urgent kisses left her no weapons to fight her desires and gasping his name in a faint voice she came to a trembling orgasm that had her tumbling down an endless black hole towards oblivion or so it seemed. The sensation of Harry rhymically accelerating to a similar climax brought her back to an awareness that it was in fact not the final peak but only a rest before the summit and she moaned in his ear until her body surrendered to another wave of internal spasms and mental ecstasy.

Harry, who was propping them both up with his hand braced against the tiled wall said in a lazy, contented and slightly smug tone:

"I just thought I'd save you the trouble of having to take two showers"

"You're shameless – but I like it!" she smiled at him, thinking once again that just when you had Harry neatly pigeon-holed he would surprise you, so much for her earlier dismissal of him as a shy conventional man who wanted sex but not to discuss its physical realities.

"Now can we please focus on the crisis in hand"

Harry released Ruth reluctantly, stepping out of the shower he handed her the towel and in his more usual clipped professional tones said

"We need to focus on the ways and means of identifying this group that Roscoe is mixed up with and gaining access to them but we can't do much beyond book tickets to Washington until Adam arrives in" here he glanced at his watch (a subtle and rare Patek Philippe) "approximately three hours, so I suggest that we try and get some sleep even though it is only the afternoon here"

"Well I could try and make a start on hacking into the CIA mainframe but I don't think I will get very far on my Vaio, I think you're right, I'll need to wait until Adam brinks the hardware to link me up directly to the code-breaking capacity at Thame's House"

"I've already instructed Malcolm to make a start on that although he lacks your terrier instinct my angel".

The last words were accompanied by a gentle lingering kiss as he sucked softly on her lips, teasing them into an even more pronounced cupid's bow. He released her with regret, squared his shoulders purposefully and strode out into the bedroom through another connecting door that Ruth had missed.

She watched him appreciatively. Harry still had a powerful muscular body, albeit with a distinctly rounded waistline. He was broad, stocky and sensual, as far removed from her tall stick-insect city trader former boyfriend it could be possible to imagine, not least in respect that the trader had been a wash-out as a lover – if anything was a misnomer the epithet 'big swinging dick' certainly had been – "Harry on the other hand …." Ruth shook herself firmly, she was a thirty-five year old intelligent woman with the lives of others hanging in the balance and depending on their ability to thwart the plans of this latest shower of dangerous crackpots and opportunists who had crawled out of the woodwork. It was no time to moon around luxuriating in the beauty of her former boss's torso like a love-sick teenager. She turned her back on him in a vain attempt to subdue her urge to follow him into the bedroom and start all over again and concentrated instead on getting dressed in sufficient clothes to avoid it becoming an immediate reality.


	6. Chapter 6

**_New York, New York_**

_**Chapter 6**_

When Ruth emerged from the bathroom dressed in a long plum-coloured velvet skirt with matching Chinese silk embroidered top, she was disconcerted to see Harry wearing only a soft blue Turnbull & Asser twill shirt, a pair of striped boxer shorts and a 'come hither' expression in his eyes lying back against the pillows on the bed.

"Now look" she said crossly "This can't go on, we've got to start behaving like adults I don't know what's got into you Harry I thought you just said we needed to sleep"

"Why do you think I'm lying on the bed?" he cooed in his most seductive low voice. Ruth felt it caress her as though she was being bathed in melted chocolate – another favourite fantasy she had used to dull the ache of her lonely nights of sensory deprivation in her miserable little rat-hole of an apartment, far away from her cosy Victorian refuge in a quiet street near Islington. "Well fantasy was one thing – you had to fight harder against reality ":

"Fine" she said "I'll come to bed, but you've got to rest Harry, I'm really worried about what you're going to do in Washington and I'll worry even more if I know you're exhausted."

Harry just smiled at her and extended his arm along the pillow inviting her to join him. "This" she thought as she lay her body carefully down alongside his warm bulk "is what I've dreamed about for so long and never imagined would ever happen, whatever lies in store for us know that at this moment I am more completely happy than I thought it possible to be. I love you Harry, totally and beyond words."

Ruth blushed furiously as she realised that she had spoken most of her thoughts out loud. Harry drew her head under his, stroking her hair and kissing her gently. Then his mellifluous voice responded in a soft murmur she could only just hear :

_"Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul_

_Of the wide world dreaming on things to come_

_Can yet the lease of my true love control"_

Ruth lay there with her head on his chest feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in her ear; far too emotionally charged to contemplate sleep and also worried in a bizarre way that somehow the spell would be broken if she fell asleep and that nothing would be as perfect when she awoke. She felt herself completely at peace and unmitigatedly happy, despite the trials that lay ahead of them. She had spent the last twelve months, no really the last six years of her life utterly alone. A sad lonely spinster save for the limited companionship of her cats, the camaraderie of her colleagues and the luminous presence of Harry, albeit always at arms length. Now, suddenly, her experience of life and her expectations were transformed. She had adored him ever since she had penetrated beyond the forbidding, stern, sardonic, defensive shell and realised the qualities of the man beneath; not to mention the strong sexual magnetism he radiated, which had drawn her inextricably in from the very beginning, a pathetic little moth flapping its wings in a futile attempt to avoid being drawn towards the glow beyond the glass wall.

Ruth shook herself mentally. If she didn't stop dwelling on Harry's physical charms then she'd want to arouse him again and they would both end up too drained to focus on the next 24 hours – blissful but drained. "No she wasn't going to go down that avenue .." She determined to lie quietly and allow Harry to catch up on the rest he would not have the luxury of enjoying in the coming days. He didn't move but she felt him alert and awake under her; his muscles slightly tense and his heartbeat erratic. She raised her head

"You're not used to sleeping with someone Harry" she corrected herself quickly "at least I, presume not, so why don't I wait in the chair and let you relax".

"You're not going anywhere" he replied in an authoritative tone "I've too many thoughts racing through my mind at the moment to be able to relax, perhaps you can take my mind off them". Harry lifted her head by tilting her chin and began warm, wet, but not yet insistent kisses.

"Oh no" said Ruth sitting up "we want you relaxed not exhausted. I've got a better plan". To take her mind, and Harry's, whose eye definitely had that certain gleam in it that she was beginning to recognise, off the inevitable consequence, she said chirpily "I know, let's play Quote/Unquote"

"I'd love to think that was an invitation to intimacy Ruth, but I have a nasty suspicion you mean parlour games – no thank you" with that Harry closed his heavily-lidded eyes with a languorous sensuality.

"Come on Harry, it's fun – you're only afraid I'll dent your ego"

"All right Bruce Forsyth, what particularly gruesome spin off of afternoon game shows do you have in mind"

"Oh Harry" Ruth said with mock disapproval "Nothing so tasteless – think more QI and University Challenge less Come on Down"

Harry arched an eyebrow at her to acknowledge that he was aware of the double entendre and reluctantly opened his eyes.

"All right what do you want me to do?"

"Oh the rules are simple" explained Ruth going into her Intelligence Analyst voice

"We take it in turns to make a quotation and then the other has to say whether the quotation is genuine or not and if it is, who said it and when. Every correct answer gains a point and the first to get to 10 points wins" here Ruth paused for effect and giving Harry a flirtatious glance under her eyelashes concluded "and gets to decide where they want to plant ten kisses on the body of the loser" Harry smirked this parlour game definitely had potential

"I can't see Queen Victoria playing this at Osborne House"

"Well that's where you're wrong – how do you think she ended up with so many children and no that's not a challenge before you ask" Ruth retorted as she wriggled out of the strong grasp of Harry's arm that had suddenly wrapped itself more tightly round her waist like a benign boa constrictor.

"Alright I'll play" said Harry trying to assume an exasperated cross tone but failing miserably:

"A woman with a large mortgage must be in need of a husband"

"Oh very droll Harry but a bit obvious – this is meant to be a challenge not a walk over. You just want me to win so you can lay back and think of England"

"Is that a quote I should be identifying by the way?" he enquired with mock gravity

"Alright another go." The lines between Harry's brows puckered slightly as he concentrated and Ruth had to use all her will power not to smother him with unearned kisses there and then –

_"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought_

_I summon up remembrance of things past_

_I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought_

_And with old woes new wail my dear Time's waste"_

The sound of Harry's sonorous voice pouring honey over Shakespeare's verse was enough to rekindle the flame of desire in Ruth down to her tingling finger-tips.

"A Shakespeare Sonnet" she proclaimed in a strained tone

"Ah yes" came Harry's reply lightening quick but with the quiet dangerous voice he used before he struck a killer comment on his opponents "but which one?"

"Oh God" replied Ruth flustered "Um, er, somewhere near the middle of them"

"Not good enough" said Harry triumphantly "number 30 actually, that's my point I believe"

"What I need" said Ruth with a smouldering glance towards him "is _A little touch of Harry in the night_"

"Tut tut" purred Harry showing his teeth in a delighted grin "now you're fighting dirty – a correct quote, Henry V Act IV just before Agincourt"

Ruth frowned, this was not going how she intended; she would have to move the battle away from familiar territory if the quarry was to be defeated – no more Shakespeare then obviously!

"My turn again I believe" said Harry –

"_I depict men as they ought to be_ …" Ruth interrupted him with an excited squeal

"_but Euripides portrays them as they are_ – Aristotle's Poetics. You obviously want me to plant at least one kiss"

Both paused, ostensibly to think of more challenging quotations but in fact Harry was fantasising about where he would plant his kisses on Ruth's body with the predictable consequence of a rapidly stiffening of his anatomy, whilst Ruth was plotting what ploy she could use to persuade Harry to recite all 154 Shakespeare Sonnets to her in that Voice that could melt ice caps and tempt celestial angels into carnal desire, when the hotel phone rang and disturbed their respective reveries. Ruth looked anxiously across at Harry. No one ever rang her in her miserable little apartment and she was no longer used to the intrusion of the insistent demand of its ring. All thought of touch and desire was replaced by an alert and guarded spook in the altered demeanour of Harry. He indicated to Ruth to pick up the receiver and hold it between their ears. Ruth cleared her throat

"Hello" she tried to sound normal, but Harry detected the tension in her voice.

"Hello Ruth" said a friendly male voice at the other end "tell the main man that Adam needs to speak to him but cannot get an answer on his number." Ruth smiled at the sound of the familiar voice but Harry was less impressed. He grabbed the telephone and spat in a quiet threatening tone

"One of these days Zaf I'm not going to be responsible for what I do to you, now get off this bloody phone before the call is traced. I'll contact Adam shortly".

Harry turned towards Ruth to see tears brimming up in her eyes – overflowing puddles that obscured the soft blue-grey irises. Harry didn't need to ask what had caused them – the origins were etched on her expressive features – delight at the sound of Zaf's voice, sadness at the time and distance that separated her from her friends and recollection of the last time she had seen Zaf when they had shared a cold and uncomfortable vigil, waiting for the barge that was to carry her to oblivion. Without speaking, Harry gently drew her to him and held her close to his warmth

"I should never have let you leave like that but I couldn't reverse the alibi you had created, not at once, it was too watertight and I didn't want to risk that bastard discovering where you were and having you arrested before I could finish him off for good. Watching you disappear on that barge was the most traumatic moment of my life – and that includes being locked in a broken lift with Juliet for two hours"

Harry finished with a feeble attempt to raise Ruth's spirits and she acknowledged his efforts by smiling up at him.

"Anyway, my sweet, I think that phonecall unfortunately brings us back to the reality of the situation – the kisses will have to wait for a more settled occasion. If Zaf can find us, so can others. We need to move out of here and then work out what to do in Washington and later how to get you home undetected."

Ruth looked up at him with alarm

"Oh Harry, I can't come back to London, it's too risky for you – we didn't have all this agony of separation for you to be arrested for perverting the course of justice".

Harry turned round and looked down at her with eyes that burned with intensity "I don't care what the consequences are Ruth, you're coming with me when I fly back, it's non-negotiable."

Ruth smiled up at him with the same fragile sadness that had torn his soul at their parting. She reached up in the same way as then and caressed his face, but this time the kiss was longer, intensified by hope that had not been there before and by the knowledge of shared intimacy that previously had been only a private fantasy used to make her existence at least to some extent sustainable.

Harry picked up his trousers that lay on the chair but before he could put them on Ruth snatched them out of his hands

"I thought I was being instructed to pull myself together a few minutes ago and behave like a responsible Section Head" he protested

"Yes, but not in a pair of trousers that bear clear evidence of what you've been doing and where – you'll have to change into something else."

Ruth delved into the wardrobe and came out with an identical pair of chinos but in navy and handed them to him. "Oh no" she thought mortified "what am I doing – I'm acting like a smug married and I've only been in the same room with him for five minutes; he's been a confirmed bachelor for fifteen years looking after himself with no help from me – he doesn't need me bossing him around." Harry however, looked pleased to be fussed over by Ruth and obediently took the trousers and putting them on, padded bare-foot into the bathroom. Ruth heard the sound of an electric shaver and sat at the dressing table, applying fresh makeup when a strange sound reached her ears – it sounded like singing – IT WAS SINGING! Harry was singing to himself in a low full baritone voice and not just that, he was singing a full-on romantic ballad, the old Charles Aznavour classic "She" :

_She_

_May be the face I can't forget_

_A trace of pleasure or regret_

_May be my treasure or the price I have to pay_

_She may be the song that summer brings_

_May be the chill that autumn brings_

_May be a hundred tearful things_

_Within the measure of the day._

_She_

_May be the beauty or the beast_

_May be the famine or the feast_

_May turn each day into heaven or a hell_

_She may be the mirror of my dreams_

_A smile reflected in a stream_

_She may not be what she may seem_

_Inside a shell_

_She_

_Who always seems so happy in a crowd_

_Whose eyes can be so private and so proud_

_No one's allowed to see them when they cry_

_She may be the love that can and hope to last_

_May come to me from shadows of the past_

_That I remember till the day I die_

_She_

_May be the reason I survive_

_The why and wherefore I'm alive_

_The one I'll care for through the rough and_

_Rainy years_

_Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears_

_And make them all my souvenirs_

_For where she goes I got to be_

_The meaning of my life is_

_She, she she_

Harry's voice floated out from the open bathroom door. Ruth was mesmerised and moved. She sat there with a silly, happy, incredulous expression on her face. Her eyes smiled at the same time that tears welled up and trickled down leaving stains of maschera . Harry's cheeky face peered round the corner after he had finished to check how his serenade had been received but his expression softened as he caught sight of her face – he didn't need to ask. She smiled at him

"Do you do requests?"

"Oh it depends on what the request is for"

"I thought you disapproved of honey-traps Harry?"

"Oh no, I'll do whatever it takes to get what I want"

"You don't have to try Harry, I'm yours, available 24/7 but not" she concluded hurriedly as he advanced towards her "until we have got home safely and fed the cats." Suddenly it dawned on her

"Who is feeding the cats Harry?"

"Don't panic Ruth, I've an old friend who is reliable and discreet and is on pet duty till I return" he reached over and brushed her forehead with his lips "They still pine for you though, so if not for me then for their sake you are coming home"

"Fibber" she said good-naturedly.

Harry's mobile phone rang and he reached over Ruth to pick it up.

"Hello Harry, it's Adam. Look, things are shaping up to be pretty urgent I think we need to get to Washington as soon as possible"

"Fine, when do you land. Ok, stay in the airport and I'll meet you there and we'll fly straight on. I'll see you in about 2 hours."

Ruth addressed Harry with a serious expression on her face

"**We** Harry, **we** will meet him there. I'm not letting you go alone, you need me close by, I'm useless to you stuck in New York."

"No" his voice was urgent and insistent and he spoke rapidly as he always did when he was determined to control a situation "It's too risky. If Adam and I get caught all hell is going to break loose diplomatically and I need you at a safe distance to organise the continuation of the mission in the UK and to try and trace us if we disappear."

Ruth looked defiant and replied in firm but measured tones

"That is just a feeble excuse to keep me out of harms way – what use could I be to the continuity of an op when everyone thinks I'm dead and even if I re-materialise no one will believe me – I had a hard enough job convincing you. No I'm coming with you and if you don't take me then I'll make my own way there and try and find you which will be far riskier than taking me along in the first place. I'm going whether you like it or not so get used to the idea. You need me there, you know you do so stop letting your heart rule your head or we are not going to stand a chance of succeeding."

Harry looked as if he was going to lose his temper as he tended to do when anyone challenged his authority, but instead his face softened – he had never been able to brow-beat Ruth and he wasn't about to start now –

"What is it they say about stones and glass houses? I didn't notice your heart was fully subordinated when you sacrificed yourself for my survival"

"That was the only viable option then and this is the only viable option now; so let's get packed and get out of here. What aliases do you think we should travel under?" Ruth felt herself blushing despite her best efforts to appear nonchalant "should I be your wife?"

Harry smiled "Much as I desire it my love, no you'll be my secretary. Adam and I will attempt to infiltrate the group (once we identify them) as disgruntled military personnel and neither politicians nor officers take their wives to Washington on business only their mistresses".

Mmmmm thought Ruth "Harry in uniform!!!"


	7. Chapter 7

_**New York, New York**_

_**Chapter 7**_

Ruth sat back against the battered seat of the taxi as they crawled through the choking traffic of Fifth Avenue and watched Harry obliquely from the side, whilst apparently focusing on the view of the joggers and cyclists who streamed into Central Park. He was sitting in the opposite corner with his forefinger stroking his lips and a distant expression in his eyes. She know he was mentally preparing himself for the operation, sifting through the options available, psyching himself up to immerse himself in a false identity and once more become an effective field agent, after what must be more than a decade sitting behind a desk making life and death decisions and dealing with their consequences, but always one step removed from the immediacy of those consequences. She noticed with dismay that Harry had unconsciously assumed that defensive armour that placed everyone at arms length and thereby provided him with both unquestioned authority and the space to deal with the emotional fallout of what he had directed, without his reactions being apparent to his subordinates. He trod a delicate line between comrade and boss but it was one that he did supremely well and which earned him the absolute and undying loyalty of his team even when his decisions proved to be flawed or they felt he was unduly harsh in his moral or personal stand. It was a quasi-military relationship – they would follow him into battle, into hell and back without a second thought and with the absolute commitment to stick together whatever happened. This was why Tom's apparent betrayal had been such a profound shock. Tom had been perhaps the closest to Harry and had also consequently come into most conflict with him. Two highly intelligent and forthright characters with a necessary but sometimes dangerous belief in their own morality and invincibility. Even when they clashed most aggressively – over Christine Dale - they retained an innate respect and affection for each other. It would be difficult in any other scenario to imagine an employee or for that matter friend, shooting their boss in the shoulder and yet both retaining their regard for the other and being able to resume their professional and personal relationship subsequently. The biggest tragedy for Harry had not being the incident at the farm cottage nor the consequent fall out of the attack mounted on the department by Oliver Mace (Harry secretly relished a good scrap) but the eventual failure of Tom to come to terms with his conscience and continue as a Spook.

Ruth hesitated to interrupt Harry but she felt they had to clarify their position before they met up with Adam at JFK.

"Er Harry, um I don't want to disturb you, but we are going to be meeting up with Adam soon and I think we should decide what we are going to tell him – no, what I mean is, what we are going to reveal; oh dear I'm not putting this very well but it's difficult …"

Harry looked momentarily annoyed to have his train of thought interrupted but his gaze immediately softened when he realised what Ruth was asking him.

"Not because I want to hide anything from Adam or the others but because we all need to have an absolute focus on the job in hand, I think it would be best if we keep this to ourselves for the time being Ruth. Besides .." here Harry paused to smile and his whole face transformed to show the gentle soul beneath the hardened and ruthless exterior "I wouldn't want Zaf to be spending his time running around extracting money from people for the book he's been running on us for the last two years when he should be focusing on tracking Roscoe, So business as usual except its going to take all my powers of counter surveillance not to be detected, compared to hiding my true feelings for you the undercover operation is going to be a walk in the Park." He leaned over and kissed her which immediately started her stomach to churn over, her heart to beat faster and her lower abdomen to constrict.

"Oh well" she thought "business as usual then, adoring him from afar and not being able to bridge the divide". Although even Ruth realised that she was deluding herself if she thought that the situation was the same as it had been a year before. Then she had loved and adored him yes but with no certainty that her feelings were reciprocated until the last few weeks of her time at Thames House and what had passed between them in the preceding few hours had banished all lingering doubts and most gloriously confirmed the intense and overwhelming feelings that existed between them. From the depths of an isolated and joyless existence to the sublime ecstasy of her present state of mine – how on earth was she going to keep a calm exterior? She was going to have to recreate her former mindset, back when she used to drift in and out of his office with a wistful hopeful expression on her face and wait until late in the evening when she knew they would be the only two personnel left on the Grid and she could share some form of intimacy with him if only at their respective desks. The fact that of course she had had no life outside of the Grid worth remembering had not made such dedication a sacrifice but rather was a reassuring routine in an otherwise lonely existence. Yes she had successfully fooled Angela, or so she had thought at the time; with her fictitious tale of her incestuous relationship with her half brother; but that had been momentary and had not involved the suppression of an overwhelming emotional and physical desire to fling her arms around Harry at the slightest provocation. Harry may be able to bring down a veil of discretion without difficulty but she knew that she was going to struggle to avoid the detection of Adam's sharp observational skills and natural intuition. "I could really do with it being Zaf at the airport" Ruth groaned to herself inwardly "He would suspect the worst but does not have Adam's emotional experience or subtlety to detect what will be blindingly obvious."

Harry meanwhile, who had obviously decided like the traveller about to cross the desert that he had better have a last drink whilst he still could, was taking Ruth apart physically with searching, passionate kisses on her neck and her face as he leant across her, apparently oblivious to being observed with amusement both by the taxi driver and passers by. They saw a well dressed attractive older man embracing with evident desire a striking distinctive younger woman – obviously his mistress or secretary, or both; no one carries on like that in broad daylight unless they are young or having an illicit affair. Ruth felt an erection pressing against her leg

"Harry" she gasped as she came up for air "if you're intending to keep our relationship clandestine I don't think you're going the right way about it."

"No" replied Harry with laboured breath as he fell back heavily and with obvious regret into his corner of the cab "you're right, that was thoughtless of me, I'm sorry"

"Oh not as sorry as I am at the moment" thought Ruth as she fought a battle with her mind that was urging her on to touch him and encourage him to loose control completely.

"Are you sure this plan of yours regarding Adam is the best one Harry, if you can't control yourself now how are you going to stay detached and focused on the operation in the next few days?"

"Bromide" said Harry shortly "standard issue to soldiers in the field, it's very effective."

Ruth , who was too busy smoothing down the creases in her skirt to notice the twinkle in his eye looked up in alarm at him

"Isn't that dangerous Harry?"

Harry was obviously enjoying himself at Ruth's expense and he hid his widening smirk in his hand

"Well yes there is a risk of permanent impotence but it's only about 10 percent, although I have to admit the risk is greater with age"

"Oh God Harry you can't take that we'll have to think of another solution"

Harry couldn't hold it in any longer and he sniggered as his shoulders shook with laughter.

"You pig" Ruth said outraged as she slapped his arm "I hope you're as amused by the thought of erectile dysfunction when you're struggling with the opposite problem in the corridors of power in Washington"

"Oh it's a common occurrence there haven't you heard of Monica Lewinsky?"

"Well you'd better not be seeking out her dubious talents or you will have me to answer to" said Ruth with a look of amused annoyance on her face.

As they gradually moved up Fifth Avenue Ruth pointed out some of the more obvious attractions: the Empire State Building, Saks Department store, the Rockefeller Centre and then through the Downtown area past Wall Street and skirting Greenwich village where they had enjoyed a romantic lunch at the Chaplin Café only hours before; but Harry was in no mood to play tourist. Having enjoyed his brief interlude of levity with Ruth in the taxi he was once again focused on the operation that lay ahead. He was concerned that whilst he had been the best there was as an MI5 agent, that was twenty years ago. He was older (obviously!) and consequently slower both mentally and physically compared to the younger members of his team. Yes, in terms of experience and fox-like cunning he would like to think that he would give his CIA counterparts a run for their money but what was worrying him more than his own ability to survive out in the field was the prospect of launching such a high risk operation on enemy soil – no obviously not 'enemy' soil (obviously a Freudian slip there!) but certainly hostile territory and at an impracticable distance from backup. It was technically a borderline illegal act, although the CIA were constantly launching stand-alone clandestine ops in the UK, many of which he had uncovered and suppressed, he envisaged that they would not take kindly to finding a similar activity occurring on American soil. Certainly if he was discovered his enemies within the British Security forces and in Whitehall would be more than happy to see him thrown to the wolves. It was not only his neck that he was risking but he was also dragging Adam into equal danger and implicating the remainder of his team back in London. His greatest anxiety however was for Ruth. She had already suffered enough defending him in the past and he knew that if there was any risk arising in this current operation she would be the first to jump in front of the horses to try and save him. He frowned, that was why he had to make sure that he kept her as far away from danger as possible, both to ensure her safety and equally to allow himself to focus on what he had to do without having the distraction of worrying about her all the time.

Whilst he brooded and worked out possible scenarios for once they had reached Washington; Ruth sat quietly observing the expressions of anxiety, anger, resolution and above all concentration that passed successively over Harry's face. Gone was the carefree, charming, romantic man of an hour ago, now locked away behind the mask of efficiency, professionalism and self-denial. To think that she was concerned that he wouldn't be able to hide his emotions and sexual urges from Adam! The iceberg had dropped down into the ocean of implacability and only the tip remained in view – controlled, inscrutable, unapproachable, dangerous. It was a well-practiced and successful survival ploy; the human equivalent of the quills of the porcupine or the plating of the armadillo or perhaps more tellingly the colour transformations of the chameleon. Well she hoped fervently that he would blend in successfully enough in whatever guise he was plotting, to avoid detection in the hazardous days that lay ahead. The mask of self-denial and control did not repel her however, as it once would have done, for now she had seen him truly without defences and had experienced the passion and generosity of the vulnerable man that still lay beneath and she was quite content to help keep him safe and wait for the next time when he could lay aside the cares and responsibilities of his position and open himself up to her once again.

Having crawled through heavy traffic for half an hour the taxi speeded up over Brooklyn Bridge and before she was expecting it they had arrived at the airport. Harry left Ruth with their bags whilst he went off to arrange the internal flights to Washington. Ruth idly wondered how he was going to organise the purchase of the tickets when the passports with their new identities were still with Adam, but it was not an issue that seemed to have deterred Harry, for he was back only minutes later on his mobile to Adam in one hand whilst he tucked the paperwork for the flights into his breast-pocket with the other. He had this curious habit of holding his phone across to his opposite ear, which often as now, obscured his face from view, so she couldn't tell from his expression what news Adam was communicating. Snapping the phone shut Harry grabbed the bags and barked curtly to Ruth

"Follow me now"

"Oh God" she thought "we're back to me Tarzan you Jane territory again!" and with a gentle sigh she meekly scurried after him.

Adam saw the two figures approaching across the floor. They were unmistakable – the impatient purposeful gait of Harry's stocky figure followed by the anxious, adoring Ruth half a step behind. Adam drew in his breadth and forced down the tears that were threatening to well up in his eyes. It was as if the whole Cotterdam debacle and the ensuing miserable twelve months with the stricken withdrawn Harry had never happened; as if they were just emerging as they did every day from a meeting in the glass office with Harry issuing orders and endeavouring at every possible opportunity to position himself just a fraction closer to Ruth than he did to any other member of his team. They had been a very difficult twelve months for Adam as well,during which time he had come to the point of a nervous breakdown and pushed himself and his colleagues to the edge in a succession of dangerous missions. He could have done with Ruth's calming influence on the team on those occasions not to mention her intuition and intelligence-gathering capabilities. This current situation could prove to carry the highest stakes yet and he was glad that she had come back 'from the dead' to be part of it.

He stepped forward and embraced the delighted Ruth, stooping down to kiss her on the cheek and then returning her hug with a tight squeeze and a broad smile.

"Oh Adam it's so wonderful to see you again, how are things?"

He could see from the concern in her eyes that Harry must have at least filled her in with some of the problems he had had.

"Oh you know nothing that the shrinks at Tring couldn't straighten out with a few thousand volts, nothing compared with coming back from beyond the grave and I have to say you'll looking remarkable pretty for one of the undead".

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly and he stepped forward and whispered in a gruff tone

"we don't have time for social chit chat now lets get out of here before our American friends manage to recognise one of us. Adam have you got the uniforms ready?"

"Yes Harry they're here in my holdall."

"Well what are we waiting for - the Fourth of July parade?"

"Well I've only brought two uniforms"

"What do you mean, oh yes I see, well Ruth insisted that she wanted to put her new-found skills as an undercover field agent to good use and so she's coming with us" Harry hesitated fractionally "She'll be my secretary but non -military personnel. I don't want Ruth in the front line of this op she's not had the necessary experience and she could jeopardise the whole scheme, but we need her as a point of communication with Malcolm and the others and to provide intelligence backup when required."

Adam's eyes just flickered for a second. It wasn't like Harry to be quite so much of a mother-hen even with Ruth, perhaps more had happened than his boss had communicated on the phone when he had briefed him on what Ruth had overheard. Well he was actually on two missions on this trip – one was to act as back-up to Harry in thwarting an assassination attempt on the Royal Family – the other more deep-cover one initiated by Zaf was to establish whether relations between Harry and Ruth had progressed beyond the meaningful glances across a crowded room stage. Adam had pointed out to Zaf that he wouldn't be able to capitalise on the book he had opened the previous year for bets for and against it happening nor circulate around Thames House collecting his winnings, even if Adam was to photograph Harry and Ruth naked in flagrante delicto in the middle of Time Square; as Ruth was officially dead and would remain so until such time in the future that the whole alibi could be unravelled and her name cleared. This potentially crushing blow to his bank balance did not deter Zaf however, who said it wasn't just a question of money it was also his professional pride at stake as a spook – he knew something was going on and he was going to prove it. Adam had retorted that if Harry got wind of Zaf's agenda it was Zaf himself rather than his pride that would be in danger of being annihilated.

Adam and Harry disappeared into the Men's Rest Room and Ruth was agog with curiosity as to what uniform they would be wearing when they came out. Harry had not filled her in with any details of his plan during their brief and deliciously distracting time together in the hotel and so she had no idea of who they were meant to be or where they were going – she would have a genuinely 'blonde' moment if she was questioned as Harry's secretary at this point in time. After five minutes the door opened and two extremely handsome and striking military officers strode across the airport lounge towards her. They were both dressed in the uniform of the Irish Navy: black with gold buttons with a white band around their caps. The tall blond Adam looked like an Adonis, whilst Harry!! – Ruth was speechless, the vision of his broad shoulders filling the jacket and his eyes glinting at her under the peak of the cap with just a hint of their former sensuality made her go weak at the knees "Oh no , please don't let me swoon like a Jane Austen heroine on a hot day – get a grip on yourself woman it's only a uniform".

"Pretty neat huh" said Adam watching her reaction with amusement.

Ruth tried desperately to look unimpressed

"Well I suppose so although I was sort of hoping for Richard Gere in "Officer and a Gentleman."

As soon as this remark escaped from her lips Ruth regretted it. Harry raised his eyebrows and his eyes widened with disbelief that she had come out with such an uncharacteristically suggestive comment, whilst Adam grinned broadly and said

"Well if you like men in white uniform that much Ruth we'll have to see what we can do."

Ruth was already blushing like a tomato as her mind focused on what Richard Gere actually did whilst wearing the uniform in the film

"Oh no, not like that … I don't mean … I just thought you would be wearing an American uniform".

Harry decided to take pity on her and assumed his 'Superior explaining obvious facts to a subordinate' voice, that always held a slightly exasperated tone –

"No we don't want to be discovered in the first 5 seconds of the operation. The Americans keep exact and up-to-date records of all their personnel we wouldn't get past the first check point. The Europeans similarly have this funny idea that they too should keep details of their military personnel secure but of course the Americans have gained access to most areas of their military hardware, however, it is unlikely that they are up to scratch on the 'one man and his boat'operation of the Irish Navy so it seemed a slightly safer option to go disguised as disgruntled Irish officers looking for greater commitment to right wing policies in the Middle East than those offered by their own Government, the UK Government or Brussels.."

"So" continued Adam still with an amused expression on his face "The legends are as follows: I'm second Lieutenant Patrick Malachy, Harry is Captain Sean Hennessy, naturally my superior as he has more weight to throw around"

Harry glared at him "And you'll be up the bloody mizzen mast if you carry on in that vein!"

Adam continued unphased "and you Ruth are Margaret O'Donnell, you were born in Dublin but you spent most of your formative years in London, so you won't have to worry about an Irish accent unlike us" – the last sentence was spoken by Adam in the softest and most natural southern Irish brogue. "Sean Hennessy is a Catholic from Northern Ireland so he will have an accent from Londonderry – can you carry that off Harry? It's a while since you did any of this stuff so I selected an accent that you should be familiar with, remember many of these American politicians have close contacts with the Irish we have to be spot on "

"Don't worry " said Harry with a dry look "I struggle with American dialects somewhat, I always tend to wander across state borders a bit and more often than not end up mid-Atlantic but the Londonderry accent will not be a problem."

"Ok well I'll fill you in on the details of our back-stories once we're through in the departure lounge."

They moved off towards the security gate. Ruth trotted next to Adam as his long legs lengthened their stride. "Um, Adam, can I ask you, if you didn't expect me to come with you to Washington how come you had a legend and passport for me?"

"Oh I was always a very diligent little boy scout Ruth and my motto is still 'be prepared'.

Ruth smiled up at him "you don't know how very very much I've missed you all"

"And we've missed you too Ruth, we're a family that has had to bury too many bodies in recent history both real and imagined, I'm just glad that whatever the reason you've made contact again and when this is all over we are going to try our damnest to bring you back"

with this Adam glanced over his shoulder at Harry who had stopped at a newspaper stand to purchase a copy of the "Dublin Times"

"You cannot imagine what he was like after you disappeared Ruth, he turned up for work and did as usual an excellent job but he was a ghost of the man he used to be, withdrawn, taciturn, well even more so than usual. He never smiled or spoke to anyone beyond essential communication and every Intelligence Analyst they sent as your replacement was hounded out within days, in the end Jo took over most of the essential tasks and even then he gives her a really hard time snarling that it's impossible to get an intelligent answer to a simple question anymore. He loves you desperately Ruth can't you see that. I don't know what's going to be the outcome of our trip to Washington – we're walking into a nest of vipers, but at the end of it please don't walk away from him again I don't think he'll have the strength to go through what he endured the last time. Even Juliet was concerned about him and of course as he probably told you I haven't been too clever either so I was about as much help as a chocolate teapot, in fact I just added to the problem"

Ruth placed her hand on Adam's arm and squeezed it affectionately "I'm glad he had you looking out for him Adam no one could better empathise with what he was feeling. I know you want to protect him, I do too. That's why I can't come back until such time that the whole Mace conspiracy can be cleared up but I promise that I won't disappear so completely , not unless it is again to keep him safe."

"Should my ears be burning there seem to be whisperings in my absence?" "Oh just checking the details of my legend whilst we waited" said Ruth quickly.

Harry picked up his bag "Right fine lets go through:

"_Oh that a man might know _

_The end of this day's business, ere it come"_

"Should I recognise that quotation?" said Adam and then shook his head in puzzlement as both Harry and Ruth started to laugh. "I think I'm going to end up green and hairy before this operation is over" he thought to himself and smiled gently.


	8. Chapter 8

_**New York, New York**_

_**Chapter 8**_

"Can I get you anything Sir"

Harry looked up and gave the airhostess a warm and generous smile as he recalled the last time he had been asked that question. It was less than a day ago and yet how far he had come from his state of mind then. His nerves had been tingling with anticipation and his mind racing with the what ifs and the if onlys and yet now the object of all that emotional turmoil was sitting quietly beside him engrossed in the laptop that Malcolm had sent her and his feelings were transformed. He was about to embark on a highly dangerous and possibly fatal mission operating far out of his comfort zone and who knows maybe now even his ability and yet he had never felt more happy or content or alive.

"Eh yes please, an Irish whiskey if you've got one." said Harry with a perfect Londonderry accent.

Adam shot him a quick and bemused glance, it wasn't like Harry at all to be so polite to anyone unless he was talking down to someone he despised which was a pretty broad spectrum: all politicians and corporate heads, most civil servants, many bureaucrats and the greater part of the JIC. It wasn't that Harry was consciously rude, although he could be devastatingly arrogant and cutting if he was challenged, but he was certainly brusque and to the point in his dealings with both colleagues and strangers. An American air hostess with a high-pitched nasal twang and a tendency to put her breasts on display a little too obviously was definitely not a candidate for Harry's more generous manner. Either he was acting 'in character' as Sean Hennessy, or, and this was the more intriguing possibility, he was so happy that despite his reserve he couldn't complete hide his feelings. "Harry was in love;" well no that was a stupid conclusion to explain his manner, because Harry had been in love for as long as Adam had known him, in love with the quiet, shy, beautiful intelligent woman who was at that moment nestled down at Harry's elbow, her soulful eyes focused on the flickering screen in front of her. Perhaps it was just the relief of having found her again, Adam painfully recalled his own feelings whenever Fiona had returned safely from some horrendously dangerous mission overseas; his heart ached physically for a moment as he recalled her animated features and the cheeky defiant look on her face when he had remonstrated that it was no way to sustain a relationship and bring up Wes, constantly absent and constantly in danger. Looking back of course the heartbreaking irony of the whole thing is that she had transferred from MI6 to be with him at Thames House precisely so that their family life would be more secure and more normal and look what happened.

No he wasn't going to go there. Despite what the psychologist at Tring had been encouraging him to do, this was not the time to bring his buried grief out of its box; better to speculate about Harry and Ruth and remain upbeat than reflect on his own situation. Anyway whatever was motivating Harry's less churlish behaviour Adam was happy for him but also reflected ruefully that it was going to confuse the hell out of everyone back in London if it persisted!

They were sitting together in the same row of seats, how Harry had managed that at the last minute on a crowded plane was a mystery. Ruth had the window seat, Harry next to her so that he could confer with both of them (or so he said) and Adam on the aisle seat. So it was he that had the full benefit of the 36 EE as the chest bursting out of the confines of the unbuttoned blouse lent over him and handed Harry his whiskey. Adam grinned across at Ruth whose lips twitched with amusement as they both observed Harry's obvious discomfort. She of course was now aware that there was a very different side to the old-fashioned persona that he offered to the world but even so he was not a man to be turned on by the cheap and the obvious and he certainly objected strongly to being manipulated, sexually or otherwise.

"Is it a statutory requirement of American airlines that their staff have to have completed their preliminary training in a lap-dancing club or am I completely out of touch with the in-flight entertainment provided these days?" said Harry with a snort of disapproval and an exasperated look on his face.

This just made Ruth and Adam even more amused at his 'old fogey' routine.

"Well I'm afraid Sean that as part of your duties on this mission a visit to at least one lap-dancing club in Washington will be obligatory unless you wish to blow your cover (if you excuse the phrase) as a Naval officer".

Ruth tried to look equally amused by Adam's comment but she was disturbed by the prospect – if anyone was going to be burying Harry's face in their breasts it was her!! "No" she thought "don't go down that road, keep your emotions in check, this is just part of the operation". It was too late however, the sharp-eyed Adam had noticed the momentary flicker of panic and horror that passed like a shadow across her malleable features. "Ah" he thought "so the feelings are still reciprocated, Zaf will be reassured to hear that his horse is still running and in the race."

"Right Harry before we land at Washington we've got to get something straight. You're the senior officer on this operation and you're the one who normally has the yea or nay on what is going to happen but we're going out in the field now and this is my area of expertise, we have to be clear as to who is in the driving seat, we can't risk a scenario where we are in conflict as to what is to be done."

Harry breathed deeply and narrowed his eyes. "I may not have been hanging round on street corners for a few years now Adam but I was doing deep-cover work when you were still trading lollipops in the playground and I was damn good at it - you didn't get a second chance if you cocked up in Northern Ireland"

"Yes but …"

Harry held up his hand to Adam to silence him " however I am the first to admit that I'm out of touch with the pace and feel of operational procedures on the ground. So this is how it's going to be, you will make operational decisions about the hows and whens whilst we are under cover but I will still be responsible for overall strategic decisions. It's difficult to go out on an operation with someone you're not familiar with but it's probably worse to have to have your boss watching your back, but I'm sure that we will manage. We've got to" here Harry's voice became more urgent and his eyes piercing as he leaned towards Adam "not only are our careers and lives on the line but we carry the responsibility of stopping these idiots in their tracks, if we don't then God knows what the repercussions will be, this is no time for massaging egos"

"Fine" said Adam shortly but he still felt that the situation was going to be a difficult one to manage. There was no one he had greater respect for than Harry who was everything that Adam admired in the profession: focussed, highly intelligent, able to make momentous decisions that could impact on thousands of lives with clarity and precision, a man of high morals and yet by the same token ruthless and willing always to step up to the bar and damn the consequences; he would trust Harry with his life but now that he was literally about to do so he had misgivings. Harry was used to being in control, making quick often difficult judgements but Adam had not always agreed with those decisions and now they were going to be together in the field and he didn't want to start clashing with Harry when they might only have seconds to turn a potentially lethal situation around.

Ruth peered anxiously across at Adam. She shared his reservations but from a slightly different perspective. She recognised the potential disaster of these two highly able but competitive men conflicting when they should be focused on a single goal. Adam might give the impression of being a laid-back jack-the-lad with his easy smile and his habit of addressing everyone as 'mate'( which still failed to disguise his public-school origins), but he was in fact very driven and could be equally as decisive and ruthless as Harry. It might prove to be a brilliant combination – the two most intuitive and able officers of Section D working in unison to root out and defeat this latest threat. But it could all equally go disastrously pear-shaped with them fighting over territory like two demented stags in the rutting season with possibly lethal consequences. "What have I done? If it wasn't for me they wouldn't be in this situation." But Ruth knew the answer to her own questions before they formed in her mind, the need to stop Roscoe and his cohorts was more important than the safety of two men. They were all committed to the same goal, to protect their country from attack no matter what the personal cost. That was what had kept her standing on that barge on that cold morning, she had had to ensure that Harry would remain in charge of Section D because the stakes were much higher than her personal happiness, just as they were now.

As Ruth pondered on this dilemma her face looked increasingly stricken and she stared out of the window at the darkening sky to avoid the others seeing the tears that were welling up in her eyes. Suddenly she felt her hand being gently squeezed and looking up she caught Harry gazing at her with an expression of love and concern. It was only momentary but it was enough to reassure her that he was aware of her anxiety and was trying to comfort her. He lay back with his head against the seat and closed his eyes. He was the first to acknowledge that he shared Adam's misgivings but what option did they have? If the plot was being hatched in Washington it would be too much of a stable-door scenario to merely sit back in London and wait for the assassination attempt to be played out and just hope that they were in the right place at the right time to stop it. No, that was too high a risk even for someone who had brought sailing close to the wind down to a fine art. They had to go to the source of the problem even if it meant operating in an alien environment and acting without knowing what they were going into or how they were going to extract themselves. He wished that Ruth was not there at the same instance that he was glad that she was nowhere else but by his side at this moment, holding his hand and loving him. He knew that it was not a wise move to take someone along on an op with whom you were so emotionally involved, it clouded your judgement which could have deadly consequences but he didn't have the strength to be parted from her after having only been together again for a few hours and anyway he knew that his 'stubborn old mule' would only find a way to follow him and probably put herself in as much danger as she had done on the Staten Island Ferry; at least this way he could try and keep her out of danger as far as possible.

Whilst Harry continued to muse over the possible scenarios they would face he unconsciously puckered and unpuckered his lips, a habit he always adopted when he was thinking. The sight of the sexually alluring officer in uniform pouting in a most inviting manner was too much of a temptation for the air hostess who fluttered over to their seats again. She had been initially attracted to the tall handsome younger one who looked incredibly dashing with his blond features highlighted by his dark uniform but in some way he was almost too perfect, rather like a male model, he would be very high maintenance just to stay in competition with at the bathroom mirror every morning. His more senior companion on the other hand had an earthy sensuality that was enhanced by the lived in quality of his features and his broader figure. She was momentarily disconcerted by the smile she caught him lavishing on the mousy small female next to him but then she dismissed her – no competition at all: dowdy dresser with hardly any makeup, an undefined figure and striking but unconventional features, the sort that could look plain one moment and exquisite the next but a man wanted consistency, something to show off to other men, a woman whose best features were on display and who obviously had made an effort to please him. Bolstered by her superiority, the air hostess addressed Harry, again leaning her full chest over Adam and this time touching Harry whose eyes started open with alarm

"Excuse me Sir but I was wondering if you would care for a blanket if you need rest or perhaps a warm drink"

"Er no thank you" this time Harry reverted to his more curt tones and the girl moved away disappointed

"She fancies you Harry you're in with a good chance there". Adam had to stop himself laughing out loud at Harry's obvious discomfort

"Thank you for your concern for my welfare Adam but if I want a plastic American bimbo with the appeal of a Barbie doll I'll go to a toyshop".

"Oh Harry" said Adam with obvious mirth "some men find Barbie dolls VERY appealing"

Harry just snorted and didn't deign to dignify Adam's ribaldry with a reply.

All three passengers lay back against their seats and entertained their own thoughts for the remainder of the flight. It was too public a place to risk discussing details of the operation, that would have to wait until they had landed and found their way to the accommodation that Jo had already booked them in a respectable but unremarkable hotel close to Capital Hill. _'The Mandarin'_ was regularly used by lobbyists and politicians as well as visiting military personnel, it seemed like a good place to begin their infiltration. Adam had brought with him new information on the possible identity of the Group they were looking for. Malcolm had managed to hack into Roscoe's personal email through the mainframe of the CIA branch in London after a particularly successful sting, involving their most alluring honey-trap and a CIA official with an unsavoury taste in S&M and a career to nurture. The fact that Roscoe was happy to operate within the official channels might suggest that he was not simply acting as a rogue agent in this matter, which would make their operation in Washington even more difficult. Several of Roscoe's recent communications sifted from the hundreds of routine messages and chaff kept coming up with the same name 'The Sword of St Michael'. There was no information on such a group in their files, nor in the circumstances did it seem appropriate to ask the CIA for help, but at least it was a starting point.

Having checked carefully for bugs and hidden cameras and only having discovered one listening device at least ten years out of date and probably FBI, the two officers and their secretary relaxed in the seating area of the commodious suite that was occupied by Harry and Adam. There had only been a double suite and a single room available for an extended stay when Jo contacted the hotel. Adam had offered to Harry to take the single room in jest until he saw the expression in Harry's eyes and realised he had gone too far. That man really had a frightening stare, no wonder he was able to punch above his weight in those senior meetings, that glare had been known to silence even Juliet, the Gorgon of the British Intelligence Service.

"This suite is decadent" said Ruth in amazement looking around at the extensive gold fittings, the heavy brocade drapes and the luxurious Queen sized beds.

"Plenty of space for the orgy when the call girls arrive" said Adam flippantly.

Harry frowned "Yes well unfortunately for you it's not Zaf that you're sharing this suite with; besides which, with our budgeting limit we'll be lucky if we can afford breakfast never mind the expensive charms of Washington's ladies of the night."

Harry tried to appear casual, but he felt uncomfortable having this male conversation with Ruth present, although she didn't seem perturbed by the insinuations. In fact Ruth wasn't paying full attention to what they were saying, she was day-dreaming about what she could be doing with Harry right that minute on one of those inviting beds with their gold satin sheets and plump pillows.

"Ruth", the sharp voice brought her back to reality with a start.

Harry had a good idea what was going through her head by the very slight smile that played at the corner of her mouth and the soft expression in her eyes, but now was not the time

"I haven't brought you down here to day dream. You need to stay focused, otherwise catch the next flight back."

"Sorry Harry, I thought that the price of local prostitutes was strictly on a need to know basis"

"Touché," thought Adam, "I hadn't realised how much I'd missed the verbal sparring of these two, time to get out the hard hat and take cover ".

Harry however was content to allow Ruth the last word on this occasion and deliberately chose to ignore the provocative challenge in her retort. They had more pressing concerns to focus on and in any case the more cheeky and flirtatious she became, the more difficult he was going to find it to keep up a façade of indifference.

"Right, well we need to come up with a strategy for locating this Sword of St Michael group and fast, so come on ideas"

Ruth immediately said "Well I know Malcolm has drawn a blank in the UK with our files on known political organisations but I can use an old contact to find a route into the FBI database and they might well hold files on this group if they are home-grown."

"No" said Harry emphatically "absolutely not, you are meant to be dead and buried remember"

"Cremated actually I believe" said Ruth tartly "please give me some credit, I wasn't intending to use my real name, I only ever contacted this girl through an alias it will be perfectly safe. Anyway you always say if you want information fast you have to be prepared to take risks."

"Alright, contact her, but be careful."

At this point Adam chipped in before the clash of wills between Ruth and Harry took a more hostile turn

"There's a delegation from the Foreign Office over here at the moment I'll make contact with them and get myself invited to some of the political shindigs that will have been organised."

Harry groaned and rubbed his forehead with his hand

"Is it really necessary to get involved with those sycophants from King Charles Street over here on their annual jolly?"

"Well yes Harry, if it provides a shortcut into the political circle - we don't have time to be choosy about who we get into bed with"

"Hmm, well make sure you use adequate protection with that shower or you'll catch something nasty."

The mandarins of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office aroused almost as much contempt and loathing in Harry as MI6 officers, all shared a reliance on the old boy network and school tie that he despised. He might dress like a reactionary member of the establishment and he was at home in those bastions of privilege the private members clubs, but at heart Harry was a firm believer in meritocracy; he might have to operate within a system still riddled by privilege and nepotism but it didn't mean he had to like it.

"Well, along those lines I also suggest that we join in the convivialities that are on offer in the hotel tonight, they are hosting a meet and greet dinner and dance for the Republican candidates whose necks are on the block in the forthcoming primaries for the House of Representatives. Most of the government hierarchy will be there as well as the usual roundup of lobbyists, crackpots and religious fundamentalists that hang round such events."

"Em Harry"

"Yes Ruth"

"Do you want me to come to this event ?"

"Well of course, we need to pick up as much information as possible and you will be able to listen in on conversations whilst Adam and I are doing some official schmoozing."

"Well in that case I'm going to need an outfit, I can't turn up to a dinner dance like this."

"Alright" said Harry handing her a charge card "but bear in mind that we may be in CIA territory but we don't have CIA budgets I don't want to see you swanning back in an outfit that cost more than our annual departmental allowance"

Ruth smiled sweetly at him, seized the card and vanished out of the door.

"Why do I just know I'm going to regret that?"

"Don't be silly Harry, this is Ruth you're talking about, the woman who has worn the same necklace for four years and who has about 3 blouses and two skirts in her entire wardrobe, now if it was Jo or Ros you might have more cause to worry."

Ruth had no intention of overspending but she was determined to find an outfit that would be appropriate and that ideally would also make Harry sit up and take notice of her – with her clothes on for a change!! She was late back from her shopping expedition, having found it difficult to make a decision between two outfits and then have to sort out matching shoes, jewellery & hair accessories. When she returned to her room she found a note from Adam informing her that he and Harry had gone down into the reception area to begin their trawl of the delegates and they would meet her at the entrance to the ballroom at 9, it was too late for her to catch the dinner so she would have to grab something enroute. Ruth hurried into the bedroom and hastily flung her skirt, top and underclothes in a heap; ten minutes and a shower later she was standing in front of the mirror adjusting her hair and applying her makeup. It was not quite the timetable that a girl would ideally choose to prepare for a special night with a special person but it would have to do and looking at her reflection she was pleased with the results. She had bought a daring corseted dress in red velvet in the style of Roland Mouret but without the pricetag and had found matching shoes of red satin with black beading with delicate but manageable heels and she finished it off with a black beaded necklace that accentuated the cleavage that the corset created. She swept up her hair loosely and secured it with long bejewelled clips that suggested an oriental influence and completed the outfit with deep red lipstick, dramatic kohl around her eyes and a splash of Joy by Patou for good measure. She didn't want to tease Harry by presenting him with a dish that he could not sample but by the same token she wanted to look her best for him.

Harry was completely stunned when Ruth walked into the room. He had attended a few official functions with her but she had never looked so ravishing and desirable. Adam whistled his appreciation.

"Ruth you look absolutely amazing, I can't imagine what you would do with a bigger budget"

Harry opened his mouth to make a similar throwaway compliment but no sound came out, he just wanted to hold her and whisper his appreciation into her ear with passion and intimacy, not make fatuous comments with Adam in attendance.

"Right shall we mingle, Adam you take the hick mid-West farmer delegation over there whilst I tackle the Klu Klux Klan fan club from Alabama. Ruth you pick up some glasses of bourbon and follow me."

Adam raised his eyebrows, it didn't seem that Harry was fully reconciled with the principle of Adam being the decision maker in the field, but he was quite happy to let the dog have its day, it would be a different matter if they got into a tight situation. It amused him to watch Harry's behaviour with Ruth – a combustible combination of paternal concern and undiluted lust. Harry thought he had himself fully reined in but Adam had seen the expression in his eyes when Ruth had first appeared in the doorway, if anything the electric tension that had always existed between them had intensified in the year since they had been together. Zaf was basing his betting on the actual physical consummation as a confirmation of an affair, but that was by someone who had never been in a full-blown relationship. Whether or not they had actually had sex in the past or would in the future was immaterial, the connection between Harry and Ruth was absolute and binding. Adam fervently hoped that things would work out for them, there was too much sadness in the world and too many tragedies in their line of work not to seize opportunities when they came and the strength of the connection between those two was very rare. He thought with a pang of the relationship he had had and lost, but Adam was generous hearted enough not to begrudge his friends their chance of happiness whenever that might happen.

They mingled successfully for about forty minutes. Adam attracted the attention of a tall willowy blond who was with the group of White House staff who had been assigned to attend the event and make the candidates feel valued. He turned on the charm and captivated her with his smile and pleasing manner. Ruth watched him out of the corner of her eye with appreciation, he was an irresistible package, catnip for women and he knew it. He was working that girl like an expert fly fisherman reeling in his catch. Her attention was diverted away from Adam's conquest by the sound of Harry's voice, still refined and alluring but with the rasping twang of Londonderry underpinning it .

"So your're having the same problems over here with people too chicken to commit to what has to be done. All over Europe it's the same thing, careerist, gutless politicians screwing over the military and refusing to face up to the threat to National Security in the Middle East. We've got to stand together over Iran or the bastards will do exactly as they like and we'll have to deal with a vast nuclear arsenal in the hands of a fanatical and unstable hostile regime. What's going on in Iraq will be a teddy bears picnic compared to Iran."

This tirade brought appreciative nods and several pats on his back. Harry was drawn away into the group that began an earnest conversation with him in subdued tones. Ruth had to admire an artist at work; Harry was formidable, his audacity and plausibility operating in such an alien environment thousands of miles from home with no backup after so long sitting behind a desk was text book in execution.

Eventually all three were reunited as they sat down at a table near the dance floor. The willowy blonde glided past.

"Oh Sean I'd like you to meet Cynthia, Cynthia this is Sean, sorry Captain Sean Hennessy, my commanding officer"

"How do you do said Cynthia, my, I never realised the Irish Navy had such a depth of talent"

"Won't you join us?" said Harry with an inviting smile.

"Oh I'd love to but I have to keep circulating, I'll try and make it back later".

At this point the orchestra began to play and the dance floor soon filled up. Out of the corner of his eye Harry noticed a tall elegant man in evening dress making his way across the ballroom with his eyes fixed on Ruth. It was all the spur he needed.

"Ruth would you like to dance, I think it would be useful to be seen to participate in this function beyond just contacting the pressure groups?"

Both Adam and Ruth looked at him in astonishment, they had never, ever seen Harry within striking distance of a dance floor at any of the black tie events they had had to attend; more likely than not he would be found cradling a whisky tumbler at the nearest bar.

"Of course Harry" Ruth got up obediently and took his arm. Adam lent back in his chair and prepared to watch and mentally record this event in minute detail, of course if he were Zaf he would be physically recording it but he had the greater maturity to realise that such an act whilst vastly entertaining to his colleagues back in London would exceed the bounds of good taste and would also abuse valued friendships.

Harry placed one arm around Ruth's waist and the other lightly on her shoulder and led her smoothly around the dance floor. He was light on his feet and surprisingly expert in the steps.

"Where did you learn to dance so well said Ruth incredulously,

"Oh I fancied this girl at university so I joined the Ballroom Dancing Club. She left but I stayed on until I perfected my paso doble and you?"

"Oh you know, the priorities of girls boarding school, Latin was optional at Bedales at the time but dancing and deportment were compulsory."

Adam watched the pair as they glided effortlessly across the floor; Ruth flushed and radiant, her eyes shining out of her animated face whilst Harry gazed down at her totally oblivious to his surroundings. "Not very good tradecraft" he thought, but Adam could not bring himself to feel anything but a warm glow as he watched them move in perfect harmony. Harry was holding Ruth at a respectable distance and maintaining a flow of conversation but he didn't fool Adam for a minute – the magnetism between the two was undeniable. If Zaf were here at this moment he would be demanding payment. As if to confirm Adam's conclusions the music changed to a slow tempo and Harry drew Ruth against his body, her head resting on the buttons of his dress uniform. His pose was perfectly acceptable but it was the ease with which he brought their bodies into intimate contact and the willing acquiescence on Ruth's part that suggested very strongly to Adam that this was not the first time Harry had held her in his arms. Meanwhile Harry was having to fight a battle with himself that demanded every last ounce of his willpower. The proximity of Ruth's body, the captivating beauty of her appearance, the feeling of velvet against his skin and the erotic smell of her perfume was driving him to a point where he just did not think he could control his urges and yet at the same time he didn't want the dance to end. Ruth could feel the tension in his taut muscles and knew that she likewise would have to exert extraordinary self restraint not to follow her desires and kiss his neck and face as he guided her around the dance floor. The music stopped and Harry letting out a deep and measured breath bent down and whispered in her ear

"I adore you Ruth_"._

Then with one swift movement he placed her on his arm and led her back to the table.

"Is Strictly Come Dancing open to members of the Security Forces?"

"No, but breath a word of this on the Grid and you'll be counting paper clips for the foreseeable future. I'll meet you up in the room in ten minutes, I've had some interesting overtures from our friends with the pointy hats."

"Well I've got an appointment to keep first, I'm not sure what the delightful Cynthia has in mind, but " here Adam looked at Harry with an arched expression "eye-sex might not be enough, but I'll make it up as soon as I can."

Harry's eyes narrowed at Adam's last remark but he didn't reply whilst Ruth looked like she wished the ground would swallow her up. "So much for keeping Adam in the dark" she thought "I knew it was a hopeless notion of Harry's and he has the audacity to call **me** naïve!"


	9. Chapter 9

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 9**_

THE GRID 

_(Scene opens with the usual exterior shot of Thames House and then fades into a general view of activity on the Grid. The camera pans in towards Harry's office and through the glass enclosure we see Zaf sitting in Harry's chair, his eyes shut, swinging gently with his feet up on the desk and a glass of whisky in his hand)_

Ros stalked towards the office and yanked open the heavy door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Zaf shot upright in the seat and choked on a mouthful of whisky. "Oh hi Ros I was just trying it out for size."

"Well you've got a lot of growing up to do before you fit into my shoes never mind Harry's, now get out you've got work to do. Tinkerbell is waiting over by the pods for you, maybe she's got some magic fairy dust to help Peter Pan fit into the adult world"

"I thought it was the adult world he was escaping from?"

"Clear off Zaf I don't have time to play, go and find some juveniles your own age, there's usually a plentiful supply in Thames House."

Zaf skipped out before he received any more lashing from Ros's sharp tongue and sauntered over to Jo who was chatting to another girl about the new range at the Top Shop branch on Oxford Street.

"I'll be glad when Harry gets back from his leave, I don't think I can take much more of Ros in charge."

"It could be worse, it could be Juliet Shaw"

"Oh God, Ironside in lipstick, no thanks. Right, are you ready to go I'm sure the boys could do with a break from trailing Roscoe round the gay bars of Soho by now."

Ros closed the door firmly and sat down in the commodious leather chair, straightening the papers that Zaf's feet had knocked out of their perfect alignment. She liked order and control in her environment as in her life. Ignore the mess and chaos, focus on structure and clarity and life was do-able. She was in her element separated off in Harry's office, at the head of a clearly hierarchical structure. The only fly in the ointment was Juliet Shaw and the other mandarins of the competing sections of the Security Forces who saw Harry's absence as an opportunity to move onto his patch and take over. Harry, as usual, had been clear-sighted and cunning in his choice of Ros as his temporary deputy. They might dismiss her as junior staff, easy to manipulate and control, but Ros Meyers was far from a push over. She had run with the masters of political duplicity and had served her apprenticeship in the heady mix of intrigue and backstabbing that was MI6. She was cold, calculating, bright and ruthless and had no intention of losing control of the reins of power of the department. Harry had left her the responsibility for maintaining the status quo and no amount of whisperings in the corridors of power or intrigues in the leather chairs of the gentleman's clubs was going to impact on the integrity of Section D. Harry would come back to a department unassailed, its functionality and independence preserved even if it meant she had to cut off the heads of half the JIC, literally or figuratively. At least one Godsend was that Oliver Mace was no longer on the scene, although she had no doubt he was still lurking in the shadows on the fringes of power somewhere awaiting an opportunity to strike back; well as Harry would say "not on my watch". Also Mace was not the only shark in the sea, there was a whole school of them circling waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Over the past 24 hours Ros had come to appreciate and respect Harry's formidable talent and ability to fight off this constant threat from those who were meant to be on the same side whilst at the same time taking difficult and complex decisions on a daily basis. It was a wonder that he was not laid up for real in a Spa recovering from stress and high blood pressure.

At that moment the phone rang.

"Hello Mr Pearce's secretary I believe" said a cold, disdainful, female voice.

"Was there something you wanted Juliet, I would love to indulge in idle chit-chat, but some of us actually have work to do".

"I may be confined to a wheelchair Ms Meyers, but I also work"

"Oh is that what they call it these days, I presume they have broadened the job descriptions act to include meddling in other departments and political blackmail as official civil service activities."

"You may be occupying Harry's chair at the moment Ms Meyers, don't presume to attempt to assume his wit, you have neither the intelligence nor the panache."

"Did you actually want something Juliet or were you missing me since our last meeting?"

"Where is Harry?"

"I wouldn't have thought that a Section Head would have had to ask a minion such a basic question, so presuming it was not rhetorical, Harry is recovering from high blood pressure brought on by the stress created by you and your cronies"

"Don't give me that bullshit Ms Meyers, I know full well that Harry is not being gently poached in Dead Sea Mud baths in Tring or elsewhere. I need to speak to him urgently."

"Harry is on medical leave at a Spa and is not contactable."

"Look you arrogant bitch if you want to keep your job you'll tell me where Harry is " Ros smiled, Juliet was losing her temper "My point I think " she thought to herself & replied

"As I said Harry is not contactable, perhaps if you care to tell me what the problem is I could help?" Juliet realised that she wasn't going to easily bully Ros Meyers who was as hard a nut to crack as herself and her voice became softer and more conciliatory as she tried a different tack.

"Look Ros, we are on the same side, we are both concerned for Harry's welfare and the good of Section D. There are forces at work behind the scenes at the JIC who would like to see the whole department dismantled and are plotting to act whilst Harry is not at the helm, he's got to physically get back as soon as possible or he's not going to have a job to return to; do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, and I will try to get a message to Harry at the Spa, even though he is not meant to be disturbed. What troubles me though Juliet is why are you doing this? What's in it for you? You don't give a monkey's fart whether Section D survives or not."

"My motivation is not your concern Ros, let's just say that Harry and I go back a long way. We've fought a lot of wars, both as allies and adversaries and I don't want to see him as a sacrificial goat – the Service needs his moral intransigence to retain a sense of perspective in an increasingly hysterical political climate."

"A very pretty little speech Juliet, but I'm not buying it. You would not only sell your own grandmother to secure your position you would chop her up and label the body parts; if you want to help Harry then it must be your position or your authority which is also being undermined. I'll get back to you if I contact Harry, goodbye Juliet."

Ros hung up the phone and sat drumming her fingers on the table. She felt she was more than able to fend off Juliet and she didn't believe the wolf in sheep's clothing act of concern for Harry's welfare; but at the same time, if there were machinations afoot, she could do with at least Harry's input and advice as he knew the faceless mandarins in the corridors of power far more intimately than she did, knew the way they operated and what dirty tricks they would try and pull. Also worrying at the back of her mind was the prospect of Oliver Mace rearing his ugly head. There were few things that frightened Ros but the prospect of Mace coming out of the woodwork determined to destroy Harry and his department gave her goosebumps. This was no time to allow personal ego to get in the way and so reluctantly she picked her private cell phone and dialled a number.

"Hello Harry, Yes it's Ros, Juliet's been in contact and I think we may have a situation……."

Malcolm looked up from his desk where he was trawling through computer files to see Ros Meyers pacing up and down in Harry's office with an animated expression on her face. He sighed and returned to the screen. It was at times like this, when the full responsibility for research fell on his shoulders that he most missed Colin and Ruth. It was not so much to relieve him of the workload, although with Harry and Adam absent and Jo and Zaf out on surveillance it seemed as if he was the last man standing on the Grid, but the companionship that he most craved. Colin's technical know-how and nerdish delight in problem-solving had complemented Malcolm's more sophisticated sensibilities whilst he had always held a long-standing admiration for Ruth's intelligence and warm personality. Malcolm appeared to outsiders as a quintessential English gentleman, well bred, well educated, quiet, controlled and with a strong sense of fair play. He was all these things and yet also underneath the placid exterior there was a sensitive and romantic soul that continued to mourn all those friends who had been killed or exiled. He did not wear his heart on his sleeve, although occasionally, as in the hours that followed Colin's murder, he could not totally control his emotions, but nevertheless Malcolm continued to suffer the heartache of their losses perhaps more immediately that either Adam or Harry, who as field officers were more experienced at the survival tactic of compartmentalising emotions. He sighed again inwardly to himself _"Oh how full of briers is this working-day world"._ Poetry in general and Shakespeare in particular, were a great articulator of his thoughts. Harry frequently quoted the Bard with fluency and apposite accuracy, but mostly as a rhetorical device to hammer home more effectively his point of logic in a discussion. Malcolm on the other hand used quotations to give voice to his inner most emotions and consequently only seldom voiced his salient verses out loud. Malcolm's face lost it's dreamy quality and his eyes became more sharply focused as he brought up a name and photograph on the screen.

"Ros," he called out "I think I've found something here you need to see".

**Soho **

_(Zaf and Jo are seen huddled in the surveillance van watching monitors with earphones over their ears. We hear the sound of a whip hitting flesh followed by laboured cries and moans. It is a male voice that is murmuring "Harder, I want it harder…" Jo looks slightly disgusted but Zaf is grinning broadly)_

"You're enjoying this aren't you, that's really sick".

"Oh you have to get you're pleasures where you can in this life – look at our friend Roscoe"

"Only because I have to. And to think that crucial questions of Western National Security are resting in the hands of this man"

"Oh I think he has other things in his hands at the moment"

"Don't be so crude and childish Zaf it's not a laughing matter. Aren't these people vetted before being taken into the CIA?"

"Well yes in terms of their past political affiliations not their sexual peccadilloes or there wouldn't be many who would be passed as fit for duty."

"well I don't know whether that says something about the CIA or something about men in general "

"Oh please Jo don't go all feminist on me, not in a confined space". Jo punched him gently in the shoulder. "Wait, I think even Roscoe has had enough of that particular stimulation, he's getting dressed, we'd better get ready to follow him."

The side door of the dingy faceless building in a grubby side street of Soho opened and Roscoe, stepping distastefully over the rubbish piled up outside the kitchen wall of the adjacent Chinese restaurant shut it quietly behind him. He moved quickly past the window that was festooned with the marinated and dried bodies of ducks, drawing into his nostrils the heady mixture of spice and soy sauce and disappeared into the busy thoroughfare of Old Compton Street.

"Quick or we'll lose him". Zaf and Jo worked expertly as a team, shadowing Roscoe through the myriad streets that made up the area of Soho that threaded its way down to Leicester Square. Roscoe veered off towards Covent Garden. He walked rapidly and kept glancing over his shoulder and stopping suddenly to look in shop windows.

"He definitely wants to shake off any tails, I wonder what he's up to?"

Roscoe stopped in front of one of the street performers who litter the paved area that leads from the Opera House down towards the covered market area. The man dressed as a harlequin with all his exposed flesh painted silver, moved in slow motion with stiff robotic gestures. Roscoe bent down and dropped money into the hat that was upright on the ground in front of the performer. His gesture was quick and fluid but Zaf's sharp eye even at a distance spotted him drop a piece of paper into the hat.

"He's made a drop he whispered urgently into his earpiece, I'll continue to follow Roscoe, you get the paper he's just left in the hat."

Jo skipped up in front of the performer who was stepping down off his platform as Roscoe disappeared around the corner heading towards the underground.

"Oh I just love robotics" she squealed "Pleeese do some more I've just got to take a video of you".

The harlequin looked angry under his makeup but stood up reluctantly on the box and repeated his movements.

"Oh thank you thank you" said Jo having taken close-up and hopefully useful footage of the contact. She bent down to throw two pound coins into the hat and picked up the piece of paper as rapidly as Roscoe had dropped it and replaced it seamlessly with another identically folded sheet. She raced back to the surveillance van with a pounding heart. As soon as she was safely inside she opened the piece of paper and groaned, she hated codes, this was going to have to be one for Malcolm.

**Washington **

_(Six men are seated around a minimalist style table and chairs in a modern penthouse with floor to ceiling glass walls that give a view directly over Capitol Hill. Two of them wear the uniform of officers of the US Marines, the others are suited.)_

"We're hoping very much general that you will join with us in our quest to secure the future of our democracy and indeed of the western world as a whole. This is too important to leave to the politicians on Capitol Hill over there or the lickspittles that hang out in the White House corridors. We need you with us if we are to succeed. The Sword of St Michael is what it says. We are the military right-hand of God, carrying out his mission to preserve his truth and root out wrong-doers and heretics."

"So what separates you from all the other pressure groups that circle each other in the political shark pools of Washington and why should we commit ourselves to you?"

"Because we are prepared to go beyond words and have gone beyond words to see our vision realised. You know as we do General that we are on the verge of an apocalypse and that the politicians are too lily-livered and self-serving to face up to the tough choices that have to be made. If we don't crush Iran now the whole of the Western World will be destroyed and placed under the yoke of Islam. We need to put our political leaders and the leaders of Europe in a position where they do not have a choice. By the time our campaign is finished the people will be baying on the streets for justice and revenge."

"Yes but at what cost? What loss of innocent lives are you prepared to sanction?"

"As many as it takes General. The military understand the need to make necessary sacrifices for the greater good. I abhor the loss of every innocent life but I am even more horrified by the armageddon that lies ahead if nothing is done and if we have to spill blood to achieve a change of policy then it is a price that will have to be paid. Michigen was just the beginning. If the campaign in London is successful it will light a touch-paper that will ignite the crusade that has to be mounted to preserve our way of life and the future of our country for the next generation."

The man who spoke these inflammatory words was a striking and charismatic individual. He spoke with a soft Canadian accent that carried across the room as if he was used to addressing a larger crowd. He was tall and powerfully built with a shock of silver hair that fell over a tanned face and gave him a God-like demeanour. The expression on his face was both animated and ruthless. He was undoubtedly an attractive man with something of the Christian evangelist about him but with a manic and dead expression behind the eyes that recalled the faces of the Nazi that had stood trial at Nurenberg.

"We agree that something radical has to be done and whilst we are hesitant about your methods we do not doubt your motives. There are many in the military who share your anxieties and misgivings although not all will be prepared to directly support bombings and assassinations. I personally am of the opinion that tough times call for tough measures and I am happy to lend you my active as well as tacit support without openly compromising the position of my Forces. These Iranian bastards have got to be stopped before nuclear missiles are raining down on our cities."

The two military men stood up and shook hands with the other four who rose from the table and then left the room.

The man with the silver hair addressed the others. "Right this is the next stage now we have got senior military figures on board. Contact London, tell them to step up the agenda, we need to green light the operation and start the propaganda campaign in Europe as soon as possible."

One of the other men addressed him "I've heard some reports from our CIA contacts in London that there are several senior MI5 officers unaccounted for who may possibly have come over to the US."

"That's unlikely, MI5 budgets don't stretch to covert operations beyond the Thame's Basin but it's as well to err on the side of caution and keep alert to any unusual activity or individuals. Right gentlemen, congratulations on a meeting successfully concluded, here's to the next phase of our plan. The House of Windsor is about to meet it's demise."


	10. Chapter 10

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 10**_

Warning Some adult content to this chapter

**Washington **

_(Scene opens with a close up of a clock that shows the time of !.20 am. It pans out to reveal the interior of Ruth's hotel bedroom with Ruth's dinner dance outfit hanging up on the outside of her wardrobe)_

Having changed out of her Cinderella outfit, removed the makeup and let her hair hang loose, Ruth was once more recognisable as her casual, quasi-hippy self. She had made her excuses and left the dance before Harry and Adam. Her feet had begun to ache in the new shoes and also the excitement and tension of the past day was beginning to catch up with her and she wanted to remove herself before she forgot the details of her legend and jeopardised the whole operation. It was second nature to Adam to immerse himself into character without a slip-up but she had to admire Harry's professionalism. He had had practically no sleep since he had received her postcard and yet he was down there still mingling and chatting in the guise of Sean Hennessy, retaining his Londonderry accent and detailed back-story without hesitation or error.

Ruth padded around her bedroom in bare feet tidying up and depositing the pathetically few items of clothing she had brought with her into the wardrobe, where they huddled at one end, obviously intimidated by the cavernous space. She didn't want to put the departmental budget under any more strain, but she would personally have to do some more shopping if she was going to remain in Washington for more than two days. Ruth brushed her teeth and hair and slipped into her favourite pyjamas: Chinese white silk, embroidered with exotic birds defined in brilliant jewel shades of blue, yellow, red and green. She had treated herself to the pyjamas whilst on a visit to San Francisco the month before. She did not normally indulge in such luxuries on her archivist pay, but they reminded her of the pair she had left lying under her pillow in Islington, together with her old life, identity, career and love. It was her own slight gesture of defiance to hang onto something from the past beyond just mental images.

Looking around, Ruth realised that there was no mini bar in her room, which was unusual. "Damn" she thought "I really need some alcohol tonight to try and relax and get some sleep." Ruth did not turn to alcohol habitually as Harry did, but during the dark days of the last year she found that a glass of wine or shot of spirit helped block out painful memories, at least sufficient to allow her to lull her body into a stage that she could sleep in her depressing and depressed little apartment. Ruth pulled on the wrap that she had bought to match the pyjamas and picking up her key-card and rooting out another from her handbag, stepped out into the corridor. She would have to raid Henry and Adam's mini bar that she recalled was definitely in their room, whilst they were still downstairs. Just as well she had kept the electronic skeleton key that she had found inside the pocket of Ros's coat during that slow, miserable journey down the Thames. She knew it might come in useful at some stage, but never imagined in quite these circumstances.

Ruth peered both ways down the corridor, everyone was evidently still carousing down at the dinner dance judging by the noise and laughter that was drifting up the staircase. She slipped down the passageway and stopped outside the suite. Even though she had a legitimate reason to enter, Ruth hesitated before intruding on Harry's private space. It was one thing to make love to someone, it was perhaps another to assume an intimacy that extended to breaking into their room and making free with their mini-bar! Ruth swiped the card down the slot – nothing. "Oh damnation" she fumed, why did nothing technical ever work for her". She swiped it again, this time more slowly. Again nothing. "Oh THING!!" she hissed to the card and threw it on the floor.

"Having problems perhaps I can help?" said a low sensuous voice in her ear in a soft Irish brogue as Harry bent down and picked up the skeleton key. Ruth jumped guiltily,

"Oh er um, hi Ha … I mean Sean …. Er no, I mean yes, well I just wanted something to drink but er it doesn't matter" Ruth blushed with horror as she realised the implications of what her presence there might suggest: she was so desperate that she was breaking into his room – to what – rifle through his private things or worse still drape herself invitingly over his bed waiting to be serviced!!?

"I er, I've got to go, sorry, I didn't mean … .."

Harry stood closer to her, his eyes burning with desire, love and affection. Warm, hazel eyes that mirrored his passion and vulnerability.

"Ruth" the low, honeyed tone caressed her name and made her knees tremble with desire. She had been in this situation before at another time in another corridor. They had broken through that barrier of unfulfilled lust gloriously and completely in New York but that was then and this was now. She didn't want Harry to think that she had come begging for it like some tart and also it was hardly a practical option with Adam about to appear at any moment. He might well suspect that their relationship had reached beyond the platonic but that didn't mean that she could face the embarrassment of sleeping with Harry in the adjacent bedroom to Adam and anyway it was not officially part of their back-story that Sean Hennessy was fornicating with his secretary. Ruth registered Harry's imploring voice and open body language as he was now standing millimetres away from her, his face inclining towards hers, at any moment he was going to bring those lips that made her ache with desire, down on hers and then she would be completely lost; she responded more from instinct than from any conscious effort. She dropped her gaze down, away from his face, still a mistake as she was now staring at the inviting sight of his broad chest defined by the black and gold uniform he was wearing.

"No Harry this isn't right, I can't, we can't … no … "

Ruth's voice became quiet and agitated and she turned away from him and fled down the corridor and back into her own room. Harry was left standing with the skeleton key in his hand and an agonised and frustrated expression on his face. This time however there was not the desolation that had marked him in their earlier corridor encounter. This time he knew that Ruth loved him, wanted him and that when the time was more appropriate would once more melt into his arms and surrender to their mutual desire. He sighed deeply, that time was very unfortunately not going to be tonight however and turning slowly and regretfully he slid the skeleton key down the card slot and opened the door.

_(Next scene is in Harry's bedroom. Camera takes a wide shot of the room in darkness and draws in to a close_ _up of Harry sleeping alone in the large double bed. From what we can see of his torso, he is naked)_

The interconnecting door that joined the two bedrooms of the suite opened slowly. Harry reached silently for the gun which lay under his pillow.

"For God's sake don't shoot" said a soft voice in the darkness "It's only me Harry"

"Ruth, what are you doing sneaking around in the middle of the night? "I can't sleep Harry, I can't stay in that room any longer knowing you are lying alone in this bed"

Harry turned on the bedside light that illuminated his bemused but inviting expression. He folded back the bed covers, revealing that he was naked except for a pair of silk boxer shorts and moved across to allow room for Ruth to join him. She took off her wrap revealing not the silk pyjamas but a diaphanous loose ivory silk shift beneath which even in the subdued light Harry could clearly discern the contours of her breasts and a hint of pink aureole. Ruth knelt on the bed beside him and began to stroke very gently down the side of his abdomen and then trailed her fingernails up the inside of his thighs; Harry moaned with pleasure and his response was immediate. She bent her head down, her hair tickling his stomach as she delicately placed her hands on either side of the waistband of his boxer shorts and with a smile lifted them over his engorged erection and pulled them down over his ankles. Leaning down she breathed warm, moist air onto the inside of this thighs and began to kiss and lick her way up. Harry lay back and closed his eyes in ecstasy feeling the warmth of her breath and the softness of her moist tongue as she lowered her open mouth onto him.

Suddenly he could hear knocking. He tried to block it out but it persisted. He opened his eyes confused and disorientated to find himself not in the middle of delicious intimacy with Ruth but alone in a darkened room with the noise of knocking on the door.

"Harry, are you awake?"

"I bloody well am now. This had better be on the scale of full blown nuclear attack or I'm going to hone my interrogation skills on you – come in!"

Adam's face appeared around the corner of the door with a rueful but alert expression on his face

"Sorry mate, but I've just had Cynthia here for an extended détente exercise, all in the name of more cordial Irish-American relations of course, but she had an interesting line in pillow talk."

Harry, who had hastily enveloped himself in one of the thick luxurious hotel bath robes to hopefully disguise the prominent erection that was refusing to go down despite the disappointment of not finding Ruth orally stimulating him; gestured over to the seating area.

"Alright, you've got my attention, now what did Mata Hari have to tell you that was so urgent that I wasn't allowed to catch up on the sleep I haven't had for the last 24 hours?"

"Well we got talking about the Iraq war and what was going to happen in the Middle East, with the departure of Bush and Blair. I said I was frustrated that nothing was being done about the big issue of Iran and she said that there were many people in the US and in the Washington circles in particular, who feel the same."

"And" said Harry impatiently "is this leading anywhere? I'm a bit old for Jackanory"

"Yes she then said that if I felt like talking to someone who shared by views she would introduce me to a group who were going to do more than just whinge and were determined to bring about changes in policy both in the US and Europe."

"Yes, well, she might be talking about the Peace Corps on that basis"

"No Harry, it's the Sword of St Michael, she actually named them. She said it was founded originally by a Canadian of Irish Catholic origins by the name of Seamus Coyle and that they have powerful friends in the highest echelons of Washington."

"So when do we get to meet and greet the angels of death?"

"She said she would arrange a meeting for tomorrow as we are only here for a few days. She gave me the impression that she is not just trying to be sociable. This felt more like a serious recruitment drive."

Yes, well, military contacts, even as small fry as the Irish Navy are always useful to fringe crackpots seeking respectability. Right we need to find out all we can about Coyle before tomorrow. Wake Ruth up and we're going to need coffee, lots of it!"

Harry willed his frustration to dampen down whilst he pulled on a pair of chinos and a polo shirt; he wasn't sure how much control he would have over his body if Ruth came through the door in the wrap she had been wearing in his erotic dream and he didn't intend to embarrass himself or her if he could help it.

Ruth was somewhat disappointed to find that it was Adam's tall, lean figure that entered her bedroom and whispered

"Ruth, sorry to wake you up but we need your expertise."

She hastily grabbed her wrap and padded after Adam down the corridor where she had ached after Harry only a few hours before. Harry almost groaned out loud when she entered the room. She stood there, warm and dishevelled, her eyes heavy with sleep, clutching the soft folds of her wrap around her as she groped to tie the belt at the front. He so wanted to reach out and pull her into him and kiss those warm, soft, palpable lips, it was a physical ache. He frowned and with a supreme effort, assumed his usual infallible mask of guarded, focused expression and inscrutable manner; what all on the Grid fondly referred to as 'Harry's poker face'.

Adam filled Ruth in on the salient details of the information he had gleaned from Cynthia. Ruth listened attentively but her mind grumbled "as usual Adam gets a gratuitous shag whilst Harry and I are left separated. Why is it always Adam's patriotic duty to get laid and ours to avoid it?" In her heart Ruth know that it was they who were the fortunate ones, they had each other to love and be loved by:

_"True love is a durable fire_

_In the mind ever burning_

_Never sick, never old, never dead_

_From itself never turning"_

But still, even the comfort of the certain knowledge of Harry's feelings for her, which had previously always seemed elusive didn't dispel the nagging carnal desire that accompanied her emotions. She didn't know whether it was better to now know of the intensity of bodily gratification that Harry could bring to her or to be trapped in the existence of hope and fantasy which she had inhabited twelve months earlier.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll check with our, sorry MI5's, records back at Thames House." Ruth realised the anomaly of her situation. Officially dead and therefore obviously no longer an officer or even an ex-officer of the Security Forces, what exactly was her position and what authority did she have?

"Um Harry, I know it might seem like a stupid question, but what exactly is my position, I mean I'm working covertly obviously, but I'm no longer part of MI5, so do you want me to sign the Official Secrets Act – you don't want to be caught giving away classified information to a member of the public and also what clearance have I got to access files, although thinking about it, I'm already a traitor and a spy so I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.?"

Harry smiled briefly at her "If we get caught Ruth, we will all be persona non gratia, so I wouldn't worry about it, let's just focus on the task in hand. Malcolm has given your password the highest clearance so you should be able to access all areas without a problem."

"Right, I'll just get the laptop then"

"Ruth! Oh damn she's already gone. I need something to eat with the coffee or my blood sugar levels are not going to make it through tonight." Harry put down the folder of background information on the Irish Navy that Adam had handed him on their arrival at the hotel but which he hadn't had had a chance to absorb and standing up, slipped out of the door after Ruth.

"Why" Adam idly asked himself, as he had done on many previous occasions "did a confirmed bachelor like Harry have to wait for his female staff to provide him with food. He used to order Sam around like a kitchen skivvy and he wasn't adverse to issuing similar requests to Jo, Zoe and of course Ruth, although Adam couldn't imagine him getting away with it with Ros Meyers. Was it a sign of chauvinism or was it a means of relating to his female staff under terms of reference that a man who was insecure with women felt happy with? The Security Service certainly wasn't short of male chauvinists – he couldn't imagine the ilk of Jools Siviter or Oliver Mace having an interest in issues of equality in the workplace; but Harry was not like them, so Adam was more inclined to favour the second explanation; but he found it equally puzzling. Harry was obviously popular with women – Ruth, Zoe, Jo, they all loved and respected him and were quite happy to mother him, so why then was he insecure? Maybe however it was in fact Harry's trump card. His insecurities brought out the mothering instinct: the 'little boy lost' act coupled with his cherubic features had obviously provided a successful modus operandi for him, although Adam couldn't see Juliet Shaw having been interested in holding Harry's hand and stroking his forehead or seeing if he had had warm food to eat, so maybe he had been less passive in his younger days.!"

Whilst Adam was idling away his time assessing the basis of Harry's appeal to the opposite sex, the object of his speculation had crossed the corridor and silently slipped into Ruth's room.

"Do you walk on water as well as through walls?" she hissed at him as he almost gave her heart-failure when his arms suddenly wrapped wound her waist as she was extracting the laptop from her bag. Harry's reply was to press his warm caressing lips to hers and squeeze her body against his, running the palms of his hands up and down her back and cradling her head.

"I've come to ask you to arrange for food with the coffee"

"Really, oh I'm glad you've got an urgent reason to come barging in here."

She returned his passion and hunger with interest, letting her tongue slide into his mouth, but then she pushed him away.

"Harry we haven't got time for this remember?"

"_For a touch of her fingers_

_In a darkened room_

_For a searching look"_

"No Harry, we haven't got time for intimacy and we certainly haven't got time for poetry"

"Where's your sense of Romance?" Harry breathed with soft fire in his eyes

"Where's your sense of priority?" she returned acerbically. "Agents are like sportsmen remember, they've got to remain celibate to be 100 percent focused."

"That's all very well in theory, but I can't think straight never mind focus. All this self-denial is destroying my ability to concentrate."

"Well" said Ruth with a playful gleam in her eye "it's just a case of mind over matter"

As she said this she stroked her hand lightly over his stiffened groin, kissed him sensuously on the lips and as he groaned and closed his eyes, ducked out from his grasp and disappeared through the door, clutching the laptop. Her parting shot hung in the air:

"Remember what you told me Harry self control, self denial, just sublimate your desires, it's what Spooks do best!"

Harry banged his fist against the door in frustration, but then smiled to himself. She was right, he was always quick to tell other people where their duty lay and how to prioritise work over their love lives. He recalled again the clashes with Tom over Christine Dale; now it was his turn to exercise control and experience a dose of his own medicine. Still feeling the touch of her hand as she had teased him he was filled with delight that this reserved and private individual so trusted him that she was opening up her inner most desires and personality to him, not afraid to reveal to him feelings of lust as well as affection.

Harry reappeared in his suite with the usual forceful, slightly irritated expression on his face, that he often assumed when he was going to have to drive through his agenda in a crucial meeting. If he had been stealing any moments of intimacy with Ruth it wasn't apparent in him calm, enigmatic features. Adam did not have Zaf's infantile, sometimes puerile, fascination with other people's sex lives, but he had to admit to himself that the whole 'will they won't they, are they, aren't they' mystery surrounding Harry and Ruth was also arousing his curiosity. The mutual attraction was obviously still there, revealed in unguarded glances and body language, but whether they had got beyond first base was not clear. As with Zaf, this desire to find the evidence and discover the truth was becoming a temptation he could not ignore. Everyone anyway secretly wishes for fairy-tale happy endings, even blokes and here to Adam was one that he was going to engineer if at all humanly possible.

"Hasn't Ruth come back with the coffee yet?" said Harry in an irritated tone.

"Even in an American hotel, coffee and sandwiches takes a while to organise at 3 am, whatever Ruth's acquisitional skills."

At that moment the door opened and Ruth appeared carrying a tray almost as big as herself, loaded with coffee, rolls, bagels, cake and fresh fruit. Harry had the grace to look sheepish at his impatience as Adam sprang forward to take the load off her.

"Thanks Adam, they wanted to bring it up but I thought it was better not to have our nocturnal activities observed"

If Harry was aware of the potential double meaning implicit in her phrasing he didn't acknowledge it but Adam raised his eyebrows at her and gave a sardonic suggestive smile which was rewarded by an embarrassed Ruth blushing furiously and dropping her gaze.

"Humm" thought Adam "she's certainly acting as though she had a guilty secret but then Ruth always looks that way in the most innocent of situations."

They sat down around the coffee table that held the outsized tray of provisions, not so much a midnight feast as an early morning banquet, unless they concluded their discussions quickly and managed a couple of hours sleep before dawn.

"Right" said Harry, automatically taking charge. "Before we go into our plans for Cynthia's invitation, I want to fill you in with what the Georgia delegation were telling me. Once we had got past our mutual loathing for blacks, dagoes, spivs, chinks, Aarabs and all non-WASPs in general (Micks were not on the list but I'm sure were normally included) then they took me into their confidence and said that the buzz word amongst the right-wing and fringe Christian delegations is 'direct-action' As they so succinctly put it: 'it's time those arse-hole Muslim bastards got shafted and go back to burning camel dung and weaving carpets'. I said that much as that was the obvious solution what was anyone going to do to change the political climate both sides of the Atlantic? That's when it got more interesting. A particularly attractive specimen with fetid breath like fermented rat droppings, took me aside and said that there was one group of sympathisers who had already started the campaign in Michigan and were going to take it to the next level in England."

"Michigan?" said Adam puzzled until Ruth interjected enthusiastically

"They've got to be referring to the bomb blast that exploded in the Finance District there about four months ago. It probably didn't get much publicity in the UK and may not even have registered on the radar of MI6. It was suggested in the press that it was the responsibility of a lunatic acting alone, but it struck me at the time as odd because the bomb demolished the HQ of a commercial Bank, one that has dealings with oil companies especially those that trade with the off-shore interests in Iran. It was too specific in its political message and too well organised to be a maverick, but no one claimed responsibility which would normally rule out a political group in the States, they always want a voice and why perform the act with no publicity?"

"To instil fear into those in the know with vested interests in the Middle East?" suggested Adam

"Yes" said Harry meditatively "but also perhaps to put together a portfolio."

"Pardon!" retorted Ruth with an indignant expression, shocked by Harry's apparently cavalier attitude and also that the images of dead bodies scattered over the pavements of Michigan that were still fresh in her mind were just part of some obscene PR exercise by extremists with a point to make.

"I mean it may have had a specific purpose which is not yet apparent. It could be part of an agenda to strike randomly at a broad spectrum of targets across Western Europe with a variety of means; in other words, designed to create maximum panic and anxiety in the general public and force through political change."

Adam interrupted him "In other words to adopt the same tactics as Al Qaeda?"

"Precisely and it looks as though a) they have support amongst the official security bodies, which is going to make our task of trying to root them out and then subsequently knowing who to inform, a complete nightmare and b) confirms that the conversation Ruth overheard on the ferry is timetabled to happen soon."

"What if" speculated Adam " we just take Roscoe in and have a little tete-a-tete with him? Explain the error of his ways, get the information out of him and then return him to his masters."

"Tempting, but I think we will have to leave such entertainment until a later point. Firstly, whatever his shady political sympathies, Roscoe is a US citizen and a senior CIA official. Kidnapping him and introducing him to the hospitality of Thames House basement will not do much for the entente cordiale we still pretend to have with our American comrades-in-arms and secondly he had had anti-interrogation training and immoral, duplicitous rat as he is he might be difficult to crack"

"Especially with his taste for S&M" interjected Adam with a smile that reached his mouth but not his eyes, to which Harry raised his eyebrows and grimaced and then concluded:

"and thirdly if the Sword of St Michael's operations are based on Al Qaeda then they are going to be organised as autonomous cells that cannot be traced and whose trigger is probably not even known to Roscoe. No our best chance is to penetrate the organisation here and try and cut off the head of the Hydra directly before their UK campaign is given the green light. Ruth, you liase with your FBI contact first thing, I want to know everything you can dig up on Sword of St Michael and this Seamus Coyle and also any details of the Michigan bombing. I don't like the idea of us going into this undercover blind – we've absolutely no idea of who we are dealing with. I want names, contacts, known agendas. Contact Malcolm to get him to find out about the Michigan bombing at the UK end, I don't care what he does or how, we have to have this information. I don't want to have the words 'correct channels, due procedures or protocol pass his lips, do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly" said Ruth. She felt elated inside. Even though they were facing uncertainty and danger with the odds stacked against their being able to prevent a tragedy, yet endorphins were coursing around her brain. It was just like it had always been: Harry at the helm, galvanising his agents into a coordinated and cohesive force. God how she had missed the job as well as him. The feeling that you were really making a difference, the adrenalin surging round your body, making you hyper-reactive and aware.

"Right, Adam, Cynthia, how useful do you think she is and should we be taking her suggestion that she can introduce us to the upper echelons of the group seriously, or was it just pillow talk?"

"Well it was pillow talk, but I think she has some pretty powerful friends. It wasn't bragging, more offering a favour. I think it's certainly worth a couple of hours of our time tomorrow, sorry, this morning. Even if it's not the inner sanctum it may give us a way in and if not I can still try and blag my way into the Foreign Office happenings. Cynthia said she would pick us up from the hotel at 10."

"Right, then I suggest that we all try and get some shut-eye. Its going to be a long and difficult day tomorrow."

Harry stood up, picking up the last of the sandwiches in a gesture that obviously indicated to Ruth that she was dismissed. She rose to her feet and bidding them both 'Goodnight' moved towards the door. Adam walked into the bathroom and Harry immediately crossed the bedroom with rapid agility. He caught Ruth as she was opening the door. He kissed her gently on the back of the neck and then turned her round as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. He took her face between his broad yet delicate hands and very tenderly brought his lips down onto hers.

"I love you Ruth, more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. Promise me that whatever happens you will not put yourself in danger."

She responded by smiling at him and stroking the back of his head. Using one hand to pull him back down to kiss her whilst caressing the side of his face with the other

"Sweet dreams Harry, _and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest; _well not your final rest" she said mortified as she realised the implication of the quotation she had just used (when Horatio commands Hamlet's body to be borne away) "Sorry, it must be late, I'm not usually so imprecise". Harry unperturbed responded:

"_Look love what envious streaks_

_Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East;_

_Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day_

_Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops._

_I must be gone …_

_I have more care to stay than will to go"_

"Ah my Romeo, what an old romantic you are under that bluff exterior"; with that she kissed him again on the cheek and moved quietly through the doorway.

Adam smiled to himself in the bathroom mirror as he finished brushing his teeth. Looking up after spitting in the bowl he saw his own perfect features reflected back together with the view of Harry's soft emotional expression as he closed the bedroom door behind Ruth.

"Ah yes" he thought "all we need is the pumpkin and the fairy godmother. It might be way past midnight but this fairytale is definitely in with a chance. With or without the glass slipper, Cinders has her Prince Charming eating out of her hand. Good on you Harry, you sly old dog. I'm so pleased I could kiss you myself!!"


	11. Chapter 11

_**New York, New York**_

_**Chapter 11**_

Ruth was up and dressed by 7.00 am. She had agreed to meet Harry and Adam at breakfast and she wanted to make contact with Malcolm. She needed to update him on Harry's instructions regarding information on Michigan and possible CIA connections, as well as focusing on locating the Guntanamo stooge. It was a tall order for Malcolm when he was having to operate on his own and she knew he certainly would not be pleased by Harry's emphatic command that he do what it took to find the information and quickly. Malcolm was resourceful and efficient but he liked rules and regulations and was never at his best when required to act unofficially or spontaneously. Ruth on the other hand shared much more Harry's view that moral necessity and codes of practice did not always go hand in hand, although she sometimes clashed with him as to what constituted moral necessity.

She sat down at the desk and started typing. It would be a few hours before Malcolm picked up her e-mail but hopefully they would have an answer by early afternoon local time. Not soon enough unfortunately to be available to Harry and Adam before they went off with Cynthia. Ruth frowned and nodding affirmatively to herself, picked up her mobile and pressed in a UK number.

"Hello Malcolm, it's Ruth … yes it's great to hear your voice again as well. I'm sorry to have to ring you in the middle of the night but we have an urgent situation here …."

Ruth went on to outline to Malcolm the danger that Harry and Adam were in, what they were proposing and what information was needed as soon as possible.

"I know you won't be able to access some of the files until the record offices open up and go online, but you can reach GCHQ and try to hack into the CIA immediately. Yes Malcolm I know you're not happy about that but I can't do it from here and Adam and Harry are putting their lives on the line, we've got to help them all we can even if it involves rule breaking. Yes, I appreciate it's not just a minor infringement Malcolm, but will you do it please? … Great .. . Thanks. I'm contactable through the laptop you sent – thanks by the way, it's wonderful to be back in the saddle so to speak and also this number if you have an emergency but obviously make sure it's a secure line. What's Roscoe doing? What? Again!!? That man is really disgusting, but at least he hasn't made much effort to contact the stooge – it looks as if either they haven't put him in place yet or more likely Roscoe is not in the loop. OK Malcolm, thanks bye"

Ruth's next task was to email her FBI contact. This required some careful wording. Clarice James had been a sleeper contact of Ruth's since her days at GCHQ, when she had uncovered and repressed some minor but incriminating information on Clarice's husband involving money-laundering for Saudi businessmen. Not exactly high treason, but enough to see him prosecuted and her career in the FBI finished. Ruth had seen the information as a useful opportunity to create a sleeper and her boss had agreed. Whether after a period of 6 years this contact was still live, she was not as confident as she had suggested to Harry. So the email had to be firm and direct without being too hostile, at least initially. Ruth typed out her message rapidly on the keyboard and concluded by requesting that Clarice reply by 9.30 am.

Having done as much as she could, Ruth opened her bag and extracted a discreet surveillance device that she had secretly emailed Malcolm to send over and which she had picked up from a PO Box when she went dress-shopping. She knew Harry would not let her monitor their movements for fear she would follow them and she was equally determined not to leave them to walk into a potential trap without any backup. She was the first to admit that if they needed to 'call in the cavalry' and there was only her then they were in trouble, but it was still better than nothing and she could at least try and find help. Her initial challenge would be to plant the bug on Harry without he or the eagle-eyed Adam, detecting what she was doing.

Ruth decided that entrapment was her safest option for avoiding detection, so she took extra care with her makeup and hair and selected what was for her a tight-fitting top in a pale smoky-blue colour that complemented her eyes. She teamed it with a dark grey silk skirt cut on the bias that clung in all the right places and finished the outfit off with a pair of boots and an additional beaded necklace with a tassel that hung provocatively off the curve of her breasts. She looked in the mirror and was pleased with the result – not blatantly a sexual tease but alluring enough to tempt the frustrated Harry into a stolen clinch. She felt momentarily guilty about manipulating his feelings as she had once accused him of doing to her, but it was justified, it was for Harry's own protection, besides which he was always complimenting her on her natural abilities as a spook – here was an opportunity to put them to the test.

Ruth entered the hotel dining room and paused briefly, partly to locate the two men and partly to make sure that Harry had time to admire her appearance before she sat down. Ruth had to put a firm lid on her own reactions not to let them see how attractive they both appeared in their uniforms as she approached the table. They were seated in an alcove that was framed by mirrors and so Ruth had the added distraction of being able to see Harry from all sides simultaneously as she sat opposite to him – rather like one of those triple-view portraits that seventeenth century patrons were so fond of – only in this case she had a living, breathing, flirting version in front of her! For Harry, both in response to her beauty and as a foil to disguise the gravity of the mission they were about to undertake, was at his most charming and suave. Chatting and laughing with Adam whilst throwing Ruth inviting and smouldering glances. Ruth retaliated by licking her fingers free of butter in the most suggestive manner possible without being arrested for soliciting in a public place and smiling at him with a 'come hither' expression in her eyes. Adam not slow to pick up on the undercurrent thought to himself:

"I definitely feel like the gooseberry at the moment, but it is not the right time for these two to be playing this game, what the hell are they both up to?"

Ruth decided to alter tack and leave Harry hungry for more. She dropped her gaze from his devouring eyes and leaning back, began ostensibly to read a file she had brought down with her. She was very far however from being able to concentrate on the pages in front of her. The sight of Harry resplendent in his uniform brought back to mind the last birthday party they had sprung on him that Ruth had been a part of. It of course had been Zaf's idea. They had dug into confidential records and delved down into dusty forgotten files in the basement of Thame's House before he was satisfied with their haul. When they had switched on all the lights, let off the poppers and shouted 'Surprise!' they really meant it – for festooned with balloons all round the Grid had been poster-sized blow-up images of Harry since his teens. Where Ruth had managed to find the picture of him aged about 16 astride an old motorbike with long curly blond hair like a halo around his handsome youthful face, was a mystery even to her fellow conspirators. Less of a mystery was how small copies of all the photographs had found their way into her handbag and back into her house – still hidden she presumed where she had first concealed them – in a dictionary of classical mythology, filed under 'Adonis'!!

She supposed that is where the physical fascination with Harry lay. Yes, he was strikingly handsome, but not in a model-like Adam sort of a way – his frame was too stocky and his features too irregular for that. It was rather that he looked as though he had stepped out of another era. The fleshy sensual features were literally those of a Greek God or those later recreations of ideal classical beauty in the Renaissance: the naked bronze David by Donatello and the angels of Piero della Francesca. The heavy-lidded eyes, generous nose and thick, pouting sensual lips were immediately recalled by Ruth when she admired the ethereal beauty of an Archaic statue or the impassive staring features of a Renaissance painting. Not all shared Ruth's appreciation of Harry's beauty. Zaf, having imbibed way more that was good for either his liver or his long-term career prospects had cheekily enquired of Harry whether he was any relative of the comedian Charlie Drake given their similarity of facial features and lack of stature; fortunately Harry had decided to see the humorous side as the rest of the Grid stood there in horrorstruck silence and had commented that obviously they must share common genes as both had an endless source of witty remarks and were never knowingly upstaged!

As she stood in front of one of the photographs Ruth had mused that it wasn't just those with an awareness of classical culture however, that were attracted to Harry; even in the frozen moments of old images glued to the walls of the Grid, the intensity of his stare mesmerised her. There was one picture from his university days where he was laughing at whoever was taking the photo, where the force of his magnetism was most apparent – his eyes shone and glinted with merriment and his lips had a sexual invitation caressing the viewer with his smile. Zaf's haul had also uncovered pictures of Harry in uniform from his army days. His curly hair cut short and hidden beneath the regimental cap, his face had that enigmatic forceful expression that all on the Grid were familiar with when they were called into the office and reprimanded. There were various official photos of Harry with politicians and colleagues over the years, when his hairline gradually receded, his features softened into middle age and his body became stockier. Ruth actually fancied him even more as the years began to take their toll. As a youth, even into his thirties, he had been almost too beautiful with the smooth rounded features framed in a mass of soft bond curls. Now in his early fifties he was more manly Ruth thought, with his more heavy and rugged features; besides which lusting after the man you love, back when he was twenty was not so attractive when you made the calculation and realised you would have been three at the time!

The last photo in Zaf's chronicle of Harry's life had been secretly taken that morning as he left his house for work. Zaf had been very careful to position himself at a safe distance, but he was still not sure whether Harry had spotted him as he had noticed just a flicker of amusement on his quarry's face as he was focusing the camera lens. That momentary softness had been captured in the picture which when blown up to poster size was unforgiving in its revelation of every crease and crevice.

"Oh great!" Harry had groaned when he saw it "Remind me Mr Younis, why you are still employed in this department?"

"Oh because I take great surveillance shots? ventured Zaf

"Go away and enjoy your youth before I terminate it" Harry had growled with a rueful smile. Ruth had stood next to him gazing from the image to the reality. Harry had regarded his younger self:

"Age is a very cruel master Ruth"

"Not always Harry, I much prefer the older you ….. I mean …. Um" at this point Ruth was beetroot in colour and wishing the ground would open up and swallow her, but decided to try and salvage herself with impersonal analysis:

"I mean your younger self was beautiful like a Piero della Francesca angel but not of this world. The now you is more earthy and accessible. I really wouldn't worry in your case Harry about 'time's winged chariot' it's definitely been kind" Even as she said this Ruth was aware that it was an extraordinary statement for an employee to make to her boss, for a friend to make to another, for a woman to make to a man. Only as shared intimacies between lovers would such revelations be acceptable. "Oh God, why oh why had she drunk that second glass of plonk, why oh why had she opened her mouth and let these things out …." Her reveries were interrupted

"Why thank you Ruth" Harry murmured into her ear with an intoxicating sensuality and a definite 'come-to-bed' look in his eyes. Ruth's knees had trembled and her heart pounded but she had managed to reply in a light tone:

"Oh any time you want uncalled for personal remarks from your staff you know where I am Happy Birthday Harry".

Ruth had thrust into his hand a package containing a book on Archaic sculpture and a leather-bound copy of Machiavelli's 'The Prince'; hoping that her reference to his looks and capabilities as Section Head would not be too glaringly obvious and she had vanished before the urge to kiss him had become overwhelming.

Ruth smiled to herself at the recollection of that time and others when they had been on the cusp of admitting their feelings and yet had always drawn back from the brink – she didn't want to compromise him and also didn't think that he could feel for her as she did for him. He, she imagined was very wary of taking advantage of his seniority and also was aware of the consequences for both of them and the complications if they crossed the line and the relationship didn't work out. All those missed opportunities! Life passes by so quickly you only get one shot at it and to have something so perfect, so special and to almost never have realised it, was both frightening and magical. The poet Shelley had believed in the Greek idea of Epipsychidion – a mirror soul – literally your other half, who you are constantly searching for but whom most never find. She had found her epipsychidion :

"_I am not thine: I am a part of thee"_, and no matter what the outcome of this operation or the circumstances that followed, she now knew an intensity of reciprocated love that would remain with her '_even unto the edge of doom"._

These thoughts that raced through Ruth's mind were signalled to Harry through the fleeting emotions that passed over her expressive face: contemplation, anxiety, agitation, affection, serenity and finally a transfiguring expression of love that made his heart pound in his chest – the combination of physical and spiritual beauty caught that moment in Ruth's features was literally breathtaking to him. He willed her to look up and sensing his eyes focused on her, she did so. The intensity of love that she found there made her stomach flip over and her heart palpitate; it was as if all extraneous sound and movement in the room faded away and there was just her and Harry in a frozen moment of communion.

Adam unconsciously broke the spell as he looked up from buttering his toast and inquired whether there was any marmalade to be found on the table. Ruth who had noticed some at the huge breakfast bar area that literally groaned under the weight and variety of provisions, stood up to fetch it and felt her legs wobble. She reached out a hand to steady herself – obviously the emotional rollercoaster she had just subjected herself to was taking a physical toll. She smiled apologetically as Adam reached up and supported her.

"Sorry, I'm being a clumsy oaf as usual" she avoided Harry's eyes as she knew the worried expression that would be there without looking – she couldn't exactly explain that he literally made her go weak at the knees!

Ruth left the dining room first, closely followed by Harry, who bounded after her and caught her as the lift opened:

"Are you alright Ruth? You seemed unwell just now."

"It was nothing Harry, my usual clumsiness that's all."

She smiled up at him and the effect was like turning up the gas on a naked flame. As the lift door closed Harry enveloped her in searing kisses whilst his hands moulded her contours into his body. Ruth kissed him back with equal desire but at the same time manoeuvred towards her fingertips the tiny tracking device that she had been concealing in the palm of her hand all through breakfast. She began to stroke the back of Harry's head, feeling the soft texture of the hair that was just long enough to reveal its natural curl. He moaned gently and pressing his lips harder to hers also explored deeper into her mouth with his insistent tongue. Ruth could feel her treacherous knees giving way again so she caressed her hand down Harry's neck and onto the stiff brocaded collar of the uniform jacket. Finding a small niche under the gold braid, she pressed the device to the bottom of the collar whilst tickling the bare skin of his neck to direct his attention away from her action.

"I want you" he murmured in a deep hoarse whisper

"I know, I want you too Harry, but we've got a job to do and you're about to go out on a highly risky op; you've got to focus on that. I'll still be here when you get back."

Her words sounded rational and convincing but her body was in open rebellion: her heart was pounding, her brain was pleading for intimacy with Harry and her lower body was aching and contracting in agreement. The words 'want', 'desire' and 'lust' all seemed woefully inadequate for the overwhelming intensity of these sensations. Ruth had never before experienced such heightened sexual desire and she was almost frightened by the poltergeist that seemed to have inhabited her body and destroyed her equanimity and self-control. The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. Harry very reluctantly was forced to separate hastily from Ruth and straightening his jacket he strode down the corridor to his room without looking at her. He know if he saw those soft features or heard that low dulcet voice anywhere near his bedroom door he would not be able to control himself.

Harry kept repeating the mantra "self-control, self-denial, stay focused" as he splashed his face with cold water, but every fibre of his being wanted to cross the corridor take Ruth in his arms, remove her clothes and melt into her body. Adam, unaware of the physical and mental turmoil that Harry was grappling with, came into the room and collapsed onto the bed.

"It's got to be a deliberate tactic of counter-surveillance, to stuff the military and political personnel staying in the hotel with so much food that they are incapable of coherent thought for at least six hours, by which time they are subjected to more meals of obscene portions and decadent choice. This overload of food saps all the energy out of you, I'm definitely going to put myself on war rations till we go home."

Harry grunted his agreement although food was the last thing on his mind.

"Are you ready then Harry? We're just going to have to manage without further information. Malcolm's been in contact with Ruth, he says he cannot find any reference to groups linked to Michigan and hacking into the CIA computer is going to take several more hours. Let's go over the background legend one more time, we've got to be absolutely word perfect, any slip-ups could have fatal consequences, these bastards are insane but they're not stupid and I for one would like to make sure that I'm back in one piece to watch the Chelsea v s Real Madrid match next Wednesday."

Harry made a supreme effort to refocus his mind: "Right, we met when?"

"Three years ago when I joined the 'Shamrock' as your second in command and we hit it off socially as well. Currently I'm dating your sister, well your half-sister to be precise, hence the age difference between you."

"Name, age, occupation?"

"Siobhan Hennessy, aged 33 and a ward sister at the University Hospital, Dublin."

"Will the records confirm this?"

"Yes, Malcolm had edited and updated the computer files, she has been on their payroll for six years. When did you take command of the 'Shamrock'?"

"2001. Before that I was second in command on the frigate 'Michael Collins', which was seconded to the British fleet based in Cyprus. I'm able and ambitious but have not been promoted as quickly as I would have liked because I don't like playing politics with the senior military; I refuse to use Gallic and also I have a drink problem."

Here Harry paused and looked quizzingly at Adam

"This legend does tend to skirt rather close to the truth in parts Adam. Are you suggesting that I am too senile to retain a more distinct legend or is this what passes for irony on the Grid these days?"

Adam put up his hands in a protestation of innocence

"It was Malcolm who organised this and I can't see him attempting veiled insolence can you?"

"Hmmm, yes well, I still smell a rat and it probably drives around in a black sports car."

Adam smiled, he had to admit that he also suspected that Zaf had had a hand in the legend when he first read it over.

"Anyway, this is what we've got, so you're a non-conformist, stubborn individual with a taste for fine malt. What about political interests?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at Adam as a warning that he was treading a fine line between familiarity and insubordination.

"I've been disillusioned with the political affiliations of the hierarchy of the Irish Navy and with EU foreign policy in general. I've joined several unofficial right-wing alliances including the 'Officers for Irish Nationalism' and the INP (Irish National Party) but I avoid any groups which have links with Sinn Fein or the Irish National Federation."

"You've spoken about your concerns to me and have encouraged me to attend meetings with you. OK that seems fine, we'll have to wing it and hope we don't contradict each other too disastrously. Malcolm only had two hours to put this together, so it's bound to have gaps."

At that moment the hotel phone rang. Adam picked it up:

"Fine, yes, tell her we'll be down directly, thanks."

Picking up his cap he turned to Harry:

"Cynthia's here, are you sure you want to go through with this Harry?"

"Absolutely, we don't have a choice, if we don't try and break them at source there is no chance we will be able to stop the assassination attempt in the UK. Ring Malcolm, tell him we're about to leave and if he doesn't hear from us in three hours he is to contact Juliet and put in place the instructions I left in my office."

"Are you going to say goodbye to Ruth?"

Harry looked grave and momentarily stricken:

"No better not to, she'll only start to panic and demand she comes with us and I need her out of harms way and accessible. I've written her a note telling her to leave the hotel, but remain contactable until we get back."

"What if we don't – come back I mean?"

"Then she is hopefully not immediately traceable and can revert to her identity as Jane Pearce and get back to London to help the rest of the team. I've instructed Malcolm to smuggle her back into the country and keep her below the radar of the bloodhounds at MI6. come on let's go."

Harry adjusted his cap and straightened his uniform; those years in the army meant that he was at ease in the uniform and familiar with the jargon and attitudes of the military – at least that part of his legend would not need monitoring. Harry slipped his note under Ruth's door and then the two men strode along the corridor and disappeared down the stairs. One tall blond officer with an elegant, insouciant posture, the other shorter, stockier and more aggressive in his stride. Perhaps the main weakness of their cover was the fact that they were too striking, too charismatic, too handsome and go-getting to be believable as small-fry officers of a minor league military force. Some men are defined by their uniform, but in this instance it was the men who made the uniform stand out in the crowd.

Ruth was tapping away at her laptop when she heard the sound of something being pushed under the door of her room. Picking up the note, she opened it quickly as she heard the sound of retreating footsteps.

_My Dearest Ruth_

_I don't intend this to be a dramatic epistle of the "If I should die think only this of me…" variety; but nevertheless we have to face the fact that something might go wrong. In the first instance, I need you safe and able to respond to any crisis that may arise, so no heroics please. Leave the hotel as soon as you read this note. Take all your possessions, leave no trace of your identity and make sure you have your 'Jane Pearce' ID with you, because you may need to assume it. If you do not hear from us in three hours contact Malcolm. I have arranged with him to get you out of the country and keep you safe. Don't return to your apartment in New York. If anything goes wrong with our op then the CIA will be searching out all links to us and they will start with you._

_So much for my instructions as your former boss. The next part is more difficult. I don't intend for Adam or I to be detected or harmed by this venture, but as you know my dear Ruth ours is a perilous profession and this is a particularly hazardous undertaking. If the worst should happen I want you to know that the last two days have been the happiest I have ever known. My only regret is that we let so many opportunities pass us by through a misplaced sense of duty or failure of nerve on both sides. As Malcolm is always fond of reciting: "Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt". I am so glad Ruth that we did find the courage to overcome the fear to attempt._

_Even so, despite the intensity of our physical intimacy it is the sense of a close and intense bond that has existed always between us in some form that I prize most highly. Ever since you arrived at Thame's House I have experienced a renaissance of emotion. There was not a day went by that I did not feel your companionship and respect and increasingly love your dedication as a professional and your dignity and warmth as an individual. I have loved you Ruth for so long that I cannot put my finger on a particular date on the calendar and say yes, at that point respect and admiration became love and desire. All I know is that I was aware of you and wanted you near me at every minute of every hour that we spent in each other's company. I would find myself inventing reasons to visit your desk and stand close to you as I suspect you found excuses to barge into my office and reel off some vital information that I needed to hear but perhaps not so personally or in such proximity – or at least I like to think the need for intimacy was not just one way! The best times were always late at night when we were alone on the Grid and I could feel the connection between us like a physical bond. It was frustratingly not enough and yet by the same token it was everything._

_The physical intimacy of our time in New York was wonderful but it was only a concrete expression of a profound emotional tie that has only grown in the time we have been apart. Blanche DuBois describes her great love as being like a floodlight being turned on her, which when gone left her in shadow for the rest of her life. That was how I felt left on the harbour on that miserable morning and how I have felt every day since. It makes me more fearful of what we go into now because I feel I have so much more to lose than I would have done only a week ago._

_If I don't return Ruth please know that I have loved you unreservedly and to the depth of my soul and that although I don't believe in life beyond death, yet I would like to think that this love will remain with you and sustain you through the dark times. _

_I kiss you, I hunger for you, I love you_

_Always_

_Harry_

Ruth sank down onto the side of the bed and wept. Not as she had done on the barge out of despair and loneliness, but this time, out of fear and trepidation. She had had to face an existence without Harry but knowing he was safe and carrying on with the life they had shared together. To contemplate Harry dead was so horrifying that she felt an icy grip on her heart and a wave of nausea sweep over her. She had to stop the rising panic from paralysing her if she was going to carry her plan into operation and try her best to stop such an eventuality – she had to move NOW!

She inelegantly rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her top and grabbing her handbag and coat rushed out of the room and down into the hotel lobby, in time to see Harry and Adam exit through the main door with an elegantly attired Cynthia who looked like the cat that had got several tubs of cream, sandwiched as she was between the two elegant and striking officers.

Ruth dodged behind a pillar and switched on the tracking device that began to beep reassuringly. She didn't need to carry out Harry's instructions to clear her room because either they would return safely or if not she intended to try and rescue them and would either succeed or be captured herself. She did however have the presence of mind to bring her Jane Pearce passport with her. She dug into her bag and brought out her mobile phone:

"Hello Malcolm it's Ruth. They've met up with Cynthia and are on their way to the meeting. The tracker is functioning so I am going to follow them at a distance. Are you picking up the signal strongly enough? On good. Now as we agreed I will phone in every half an hour and if you don't hear from me within one hour of the last contact then ring Clarice and get the FBI involved. Yes I am sure Malcolm, yes I know what diplomatic furore it will cause but we can't risk what these people will do to Harry and Adam if their cover is blown. Have you managed to hack into the CIA computer files yet? Oh dear. Well let me know the minute you find anything. Yes, yes I promise to be careful. Yes I will tell Harry that it was all my idea. Bye Malcolm"

Ruth thrust the phone back into the organised chaos that was her bag and hurried out of the hotel and across to the car she had hired the night before

"I really am a lot more devious and a lot less naïve than Harry gives me credit for" she thought to herself with a wry smile as she placed the tracker on the dashboard and grinding the automatic gear lever into D, pulled out in front of an alarmed limousine driver and zoomed off onto the main road.


	12. Chapter 12

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 12**_

Ruth strained her eyes to keep focused on Cynthia's car which she had identified in the inside lane several vehicles ahead of her. She wasn't experienced at following cars, in fact she had never had occasion to utilise the basic surveillance training they had all received, but she did know that it was not a good idea to get too close. On the other hand she didn't want to lose sight of them completely in case the bugging device she had planted failed to work and with her track record with technical devices that was more than just a remote possibility.

Just as the car ahead turned off the highway Ruth's mobile rang.

"Damn" she thought, but she juggled to pick it up at the same time as she was manoeuvering off the junction, as it had to be Malcolm who was trying to contact her.

"Hello, yes Malcolm, can you be quick as I'm driving and I can't work the bluetooth connection in this stupid car so I've got the phone jammed next to my ear and I don't want to get stopped by the traffic police."

"Yes Ruth of course I'll be as succinct as possible. I've come across a very disturbing email sent by Roscoe to the Sword of St Michael HQ yesterday. It tells them that two MI5 agents are in the US and possibly hunting for them."

"Oh my God Malcolm, how could he possibly know?"

"Well that's the most disturbing thing. He says they were identified leaving on separate occasions at the airport by an ex-colleague. Ruth, who would be able to identify Harry and Adam? It would need to be someone senior from inside Thames House or an affiliated security body who bears a grudge; who is operating outside the normal MI6 or Special Branch surveillance (because Adam had those covered) and who is involved in some way in the conspiracy and knows to contact Roscoe. Harry's made a lot of enemies over the years but to me this has Mace written all over it. Who else can you think of who has both the seniority and the vindictiveness to make contact with this group and send Harry to his possible death. You've got to stop Harry and Adam from meeting with the Sword of St Michael, even if it's not a trap the group will be on their guard for any unusual attempts to penetrate their organisation."

"It's too late Malcolm at this very minute I can see them entering the building. I won't be able to reach them in time." Ruth's voice was high pitched and panic-stricken.

"Don't worry Ruth, pull over and sit tight. I'll contact the FBI and send in help."

"No Malcolm, that will have to be a last resort. If Harry and Adam are exposed it will cause a huge diplomatic row and anyway the FBI won't get here in time. I'm going to go in and try and extract them. If you don't hear from me in half an hour THEN contact the FBI."

"No Ruth, listen ….."

The line went dead on Malcolm who looked anxious and not a little indecisive. It was not in his remit to make sudden life and death decisions; he wasn't good at seat-of-your-pants scenarios. Still if Ruth was already there, perhaps he should leave it to her judgement, but she was a desk spook like him, with a pretty poor track record in the field. The few times she had been beyond the safety of the Grid she had come close to disaster – shot at, kidnapped and most decisively betrayed and traduced by Mace as a pawn in his long-standing duel with Harry. He decided he had no choice other than to sit and wait for Ruth to call him. He would check his lines of communication with the FBI, particularly Ruth's contact Clarice, so that he would be all systems go when the phone rang.

Meanwhile Ruth parked her car opposite to a large modern tower than rose like a glass sheath from the surrounding buildings. Whoever was funding the Sword of St Michael had deep pockets, it must cost millions of dollars to rent offices in such a prestigious location in central Washington. The tracker was still bleeping and confirmed that Harry was inside the building and ascending up towards the top floor. Her next obstacle would be to blag her way past the Security on the door without arousing suspicion. She had spotted a florist a few doors back along the road, which might provide a cover.

_Scene: Penthouse suite. HQ of Sword of St Michael. Cynthia, Harry & Adam are standing near the floor to ceiling glass window admiring the view over Capitol Hill. Seamus Coyle and two fellow group members are pointing out the sights whilst four burly bodyguards stand in threatening attendance by the exits._

"Definitely a novel way to win friends and influence people" mused Adam "more like a meeting with Columbian drug barons or Russian mafia than a supposedly religious pressure group. This is not looking good."

"Tell me Captain Hennessy" purred Coyle, in his soft Canadian drawl, "what brings you to Washington and more specifically to us?"

"We're here to meet and greet. A PR exercise to raise the profile of the Irish Navy and hopefully encourage US and NATO support for our expansion plans. I have to confess we were not aware of the existence of the Sword of St Michael before our conversation with the delightful Miss Lawrence yesterday evening; but from what she has told me it seems that we are sympathetic with many of your aims and aspirations. I am fed up with the mealy-mouthed, soft-bellied approach of Europe to the Middle East problem in general and the threat from Iran in particular. It seems your organisation is prepared to nail its colours to the mast and actually do something about it and if so we are interested in supporting you."

"I'm most honoured Captain Hennessy."

"Please, call me Sean."

"By all means Sean. Now tell me, what precisely do you think you could offer to us?"

Harry kept his eyes fixed on Coyle and took a leisurely sip of his drink, but inside his mind was whirling. His instincts were warning him that there was something that didn't ring true about the whole scenario – something in the tone of Coyle's voice and the questions he was coming up with – ostensibly fine, but yet it was as if Coyle wasn't really concerned about the answers. Just going through the motions in an elaborate cat and mouse charade. But why? There was no way that he could already have discovered weaknesses in their legends. Too much time behind a desk, he was losing his touch, becoming paranoid and yet – his instincts had never let him down before and at the moment they were screaming at him: GET OUT NOW!! He glanced across at Adam and saw the same anxiety in his eyes, although the younger man's posture was relaxed and his flirtatious conversation with Cynthia convincing. Making sure that he kept any trace of alarm out of his voice Harry replied to Coyle:

"I think that we need to have a more in-depth discussion so that I have a closer understanding of how your organisation works and what your allegiances are before I can commit to specifics, but certainly we are interested to join your group."

"I am delighted to hear it Sean. Perhaps you and your colleague would care to join me for lunch?"

Cynthia apologised that as she had already mentioned she was committed to a meeting at 12 noon with a Pro-Life group who were keen to establish a higher profile in Washington and so she wouldn't be able to join them.

"Don't worry Miss Lawrence, one of my men will look after our guests, you don't have to concern yourself about their welfare."

Adam didn't like Coyle's choice of words nor the tone in which they were delivered nor indeed the almost wolfish smirk that crossed his distinct features as he said them. Cynthia was their only witness and link to the outside authorities; without her they would be completely at the mercy of Coyle's thugs; but it was too late to back out now without arousing suspicion, they would just have to bluff their way through. As soon as Cynthia left the room Coyle gestured to his guards and the doors were locked.

"Just a precaution gentlemen, you never know who might try and intrude on our conversation. There are spies everywhere in Washington, I'm sure you have the same problem in your line of work?"

Harry demurred "I'm afraid the Irish Government cannot afford to run an effective surveillance of it's military much as they would like to."

"Ah, but I believe the British Government has a much healthier budget."

Here Coyle's voice lowered and became more menacing "It stretches to sending its spies abroad, even to operate in the countries of their supposed allies."

"Shit" thought Adam "how the hell does he know? It can't have been a leak from Thames House, only a handful of Section D know where we are.We must have been spotted at Heathrow or JFK but by whom? I'm certain I had all the MI6 and Special Branch goons accounted for?"

"This" thought Harry grimly "is not going to be pleasant."

"Well gentlemen, shall we drop the pretence. I know you are MI5 officers and your pathetic attempt to penetrate my organisation has not worked. But before I introduce you to my hospitality suite and the expert hands of my men, I would like to give you the satisfaction of the information that you are not going to be in a position to pass on. The tentacles of my organisation have penetrated not only the White House and the CIA, but also into the British Parliament and Security Forces and into most other European governments; apart from unfortunately the French, who want to choose their own particular strategy for dealing with the Arab problem. In approximately 24 hours at least two leading members of your Royal Family will be assassinated by a disillusioned Muslim who holds a British passport. The ensuing political fallout will force through the policy changes that our sympathisers in Whitehall have already drawn up. A simple, almost crude plan but one which I believe will, with judicious encouragement prove to be highly effective. Now gentlemen, whatever your real names are, I want certain information from you. Where did you hear of us? Who else knows about our plans? And what contacts you have made over here? We can do this the easy way or the more painful – the choice is yours. Take them through, get them ready and let them think about their options for five minutes."

One of the guards sprang forward and grabbed Harry by the arm.

"Get off me" he growled shaking himself loose. He might be about to be tortured, but he always hated being man-handled: he would go on his own terms and in his own time. He and Adam glanced at each other for reassurance and walked through the door that had been opened into a windowless room that was bare apart from a table on which stood an array of instruments, metal bars and electrodes. They were immediately stripped to the waist, handcuffed and hung up on large meat hooks that were suspended from the ceiling. The two men who had led them in checked the pockets of their uniform jackets. They were empty apart from a packet of chewing gum and a used ticket for the Dublin tram (Malcolm's thorough backup for their legend had proved unfortunately superfluous) and a small folded piece of paper.

"What the hell's that?" thought Harry, from whose jacket it had been drawn. The thick-set shaven-headed thug unfolded the paper and passed it to Coyle who had appeared at the entrance to the door.

"Well either MI5 have improved on the literary quality of their coded messages or this is a lover's gesture." Coyle cleared his throat and read out in fluent and measured tones:

_Go from me. Yet I shall feel that I shall stand_

_Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore_

_Alone upon the threshold of my door_

_Of individual life I shall command_

_The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand_

_Serenely in the sunshine as before,_

_Without the sense of that which I forbore –_

_Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land_

_Doom takes to part us, leave thy heart in mine_

_With pulses that beat double. What I do_

_And what I dream include thee, as the wine_

_Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue_

_God for myself, He hears that name of thine,_

_And sees within my eyes the tears of two._

"Ah yes, Elizabeth Barrett-Browning I believe, very romantic, very touching. You must give me a forwarding address for your beloved, Sean or whatever your name is, and then I can forward what's left of you as a keepsake."

As Coyle read out the sonnet Harry remained impassive, only the pursing of his lips revealed the emotions that were surging through him as he imagined the verse being recited in Ruth's soft hesitant voice. He could face the agony ahead of him. He'd faced similar before and survived it, but the thought of what was now the certain anguish that Ruth would endure thinking of his torture made him ache for her. Adam shut his eyes to block out the image of Harry's stoic features. He should have given Harry the slip and come on his own with Cynthia, now they were both going to face pain and certain death. "No!" Adam mentally shook himself "Stay positive, the only way to face the next hours is to shut down all emotion except defiance."

Coyle smirked at the two men as they hung with arms stretched tight above their heads and the tips of their toes just touching the floor.

"Enjoy our hospitality gentlemen, nothing is too much trouble to entertain officers of the Irish Navy. Think over your options carefully, we'll be back shortly."

Left alone the two men wasted no time with useless apologies or 'what-ifs'.

"Right Harry, you and I both know that Coyle doesn't intend for us to walk out of here. Our only hope is to hang on as long as possible in case Malcolm or Ruth manage to contact the US authorities in time to get us out alive."

"I agree Adam, but this is going to be a tough one. These are professionals. We've both endured torture before, but I was kind of hoping I'd passed beyond the risk of having electrodes attached to my genitals."

"Ah that's the beauty of this job Harry, you never know what's around the next corner."

Coyle and his associates continued in urgent discussion in front of the glass window where they had only minutes earlier been involved in the elaborate charade with Harry, Adam and Cynthia,

"I've got to make some calls and meet the English contact. You .."

Here Coyle turned to a tall skinny man with glasses and a hooded expression "contact our CIA friends and get them to check out these two. I always like to get a positive ID on those whom I'm going to execute. I like to be through and know where to send the letters of condolence." He turned to the four bodyguards

"You take it in turns to soften them up. It will take time as they will have had training in resistance to interrogation and they both look as though they've had interesting encounters in the past, judging by the scars on their bodies. Start with the older one first, he's more likely to see sense, the younger one still has youthful idealism on his side."

Coyle and his two suited associates left the room. The bodyguards discussed how they should proceed and then two went off through a third door into a room where a TV was playing and the remaining two went back into the room where Adam and Harry were hung up like carcasses of meat. They hauled Harry down and had to man-handle him across to the chair that was positioned adjacent to the table, as he was stronger and more resistant than they had anticipated. Having tied him up with thick rope they attached a garrotte to his throat to limit his head movement and began to lay out instruments of torture on the table in front of him. Harry knew this was a standard trick – intimidate the victim with anticipation of the agony before the physical abuse even began. He responded by gazing over their heads at the opposite wall.

"Start on the teeth and work your way down, I'll be back in ten minutes and we'll progress from there if he isn't singing already. Don't overdo the dose, I don't want him blacked out or dead before we've got the information."

The thicker set of the two guards checked over the equipment on the table, picking up an iron bar and testing the weight and also examining some very unpleasant looking metal skewers, before strolling across to the TV area and shutting the door. The remaining guard switched on the machine on the table and checking there was a spark between the two probes, advanced towards Harry into whose mouth he had already forced a rubber block.

Adam called out "Hey gorilla why not start on me, my fillings are in better condition, they'll conduct better, much more fun."

All he got for his trouble was a punch in the stomach which left him winded and the guard turned back to Harry. He had his back to the main room, so he didn't see a door open or a large bouquet of flowers enter the room and set themselves down on the main table. He advanced towards Harry grinning with sadistic pleasure at the pain he was going to inflict. At that moment a small figure flew silently into the room with a fire extinguisher raised above her head. Ruth swung it with all her strength at the head of the six foot muscle-bound enemy in front of her. There was the sickening sound of metal crushing bone as the barrel of the extinguisher cracked against the man's skull. He sank to his knees and she raised it again and brought it down squarely on the back of his head. He fell forward and blood began to seep onto the floor.

"Shall I hit him again Adam?" she asked, as she bent over the prostrate body, horrified by the consequences of her action.

"Er, no Ruth, I think that's probably done the trick."

Ruth's face took on that dreamy trance-like quality it adopted when her thoughts were focused elsewhere.

"Mmmmm" urged the gagged Harry.

"Oh God yes" said Ruth scrambling up and taking the rubber wedge out of his mouth and began to untie the garrotte.

"Are you alright Harry?"

"Fine, I thought I told you to stay out of harm's way. How did you find us ? You didn't tail, us I checked."

"Oh, a little tracking device Malcolm sent over for me – it's on your jacket."

"When?" Harry hesitated as the realisation dawned on him as to when and where she had planted the device on him and he smiled and shook his head slightly in disbelief

"I suppose it's not the first time I've underestimated you Ruth."

Ruth busied herself with tackling the heavy ropes that bound him to the chair, whilst Harry and Adam watched her anxiously. None of them noticed the large figure that loomed in the doorway until a large tattoed hand came out, grabbing Ruth by the throat and swinging her off the ground. The ferocity of his grip cut off her oxygen supply and Ruth blacked out before her body hit the ground.

"Oh God no, please God no."

The large guard checked Harry's restraint and took out his mobile.

"There have been some developments here. A woman got in and tried to rescue them. James is dead or close to it but everything is secure again. What do you want me to do with her?"

Coyle at the other end of the phone raised his eyebrows in amusement

"Damsel rescues knight in shining armour – it must be a sign of the times. She's obviously the consumptive lady on the couch."

"Huh" said the guard, by this time totally confused.

"Never mind" sighed Coyle and thought to himself "it's just as well the guards were employed for the size of their biceps and not their brains or this one would stand no chance."

"Use it to your advantage. The old one might have stood up to pain himself but he won't be able to face listening to the screams of his beloved so start with her and make sure he can see and hear everything. It's unfortunate about James but he was expendable, put the body in the storeroom until we can dispose of it."

The guard snapped his phone shut and tying the arms of the prostrate Ruth behind her back, turned to Harry and grinning into his face said

"Suddenly this assignment's got a whole lot more enjoyable."

Harry felt sick to the bottom of his stomach. He knew what Coyle would have instructed them. "Why oh why had Ruth risked her life and followed them? She had just made the situation a hundred times worse. If he gave in and revealed the information Coyle wanted it would be a death warrant for all three of them and yet how was he going to be able to bear listening to what they would do to her? How indeed was Ruth going to be able to stand up to torture?" If he could he would kill her himself to stop her having to face it. Never had he felt so helpless, even twenty-six years earlier stripped naked in an underground cellar with the IRA's finest wiring him into the National Grid. Adam was in similar turmoil and even more apprehensive about what these men would be prepared to do to Ruth to get their way. These were not just security guards, they'd had at least basic military or CIA training and in the past Adam had seen what rogue operatives had been capable of in interrogations in the Middle East. They were held in a sophisticated, civilised office penthouse in the seat of a government that was meant to be the stalwart of democratic values and yet make no mistake what was about to happen within those same walls would be barbaric and would defy all concepts of civilised behaviour. Men like Coyle hid behind a veneer of respectability but were ruthless enough to sanction whatever means were required to achieve results.

The two other guards appeared in the doorway. One advanced on Harry and reattached the garotte

"You will watch and listen and we will enjoy"

He leaned over Ruth and slapped her hard on the face until she regained consciousness

"Hello pretty little lady, we want you awake for the next part of our entertainment."

Ruth panic-stricken, backed herself against the wall.

"No don't be silly, I've called the State Police and the FBI, they will be here at any minute."

"Gag her. I want to hear her screams not her blabbering and take her into the main room we've got more space to manoeuvre there and he can still see everything."

With this the largest guard dragged Harry's chair round so that it faced the entrance and lifting the screaming struggling Ruth off the floor, half-dragged, half-carried her into the main room where he threw her to the ground. Momentarily stunned she stopped struggling and he stood over her and started to rip her clothes off whilst the other guard looked around for something suitable to gag her. Ruth turned her head imploringly to Adam, she dare not look at Harry who was breathing heavily and desperately trying to subdue any outward sign of his agony. Adam kept eye contact with her

"Put yourself out of this room. Somewhere far away where you were happy and focus on it. This is not …. " a large fist met with Adam's jaw and cut off any further help to Ruth. It was the encouragement she needed however, and her eyes looked back at her captors with defiance and scorn. Their response was to hit her repeatedly in the face and torso, whilst the largest guard began to unbuckle the belt of his trousers

"Hey, why do you get first bite of the cherry?"

"Because I'm going to hurt the most"

"Well hurry up my pecker's begging for it"

Harry tried desperately to detach his mind from his immediate surroundings. Like Adam, he know that the only way through this was to numb the senses and shut down mentally. Still he flinched as Ruth's ear-piercing scream cut through the air after her whimpering pleas "Please no, please don't do this.." fell on deaf ears. It was followed by ever more intense screams of pain and distress. Suddenly there was a deafening explosion as stun grenades landed in the room. The space was filled with heavily armed shadowy figures with masks on.

As he was released Harry sprang like a caged animal towards the half-naked man who was being held down between two of the special forces; in a split second there was a cracking sound and the man's head lolled at an unnatural angle. Harry made for the second guard but was restrained by Adam who clasped his arm in front of Harry's chest

"Steady on Harry, we need information from them"

Harry turned to Adam, his face distorted with anger and tears streaming down his face. Adam moved his arm to gently embrace Harry's shoulders

"Look after Ruth Harry, I'll sort these bastards out"

Harry spun round and kneeling on the floor, very gently cradled the weeping Ruth in his arms and covered her with the blanket offered to him by one of the armed police.

"It's alright Ruth. You're safe. We're all safe thanks to you. It's going to be all right. Don't cry."

He held her bruised, bloody face to his and impervious to all those around him covered her with soft, tender kisses.

The sight of Harry cradling Ruth's broken, trembling form in the same way he had cradled Fiona was like a knife through the heart to Adam, who bent over with his arms wrapped around his stomach and slid down the wall moaning to himself

"Oh God, Fi, Fi, why is this happening again?"

"Excuse me sir" one of the special forces officers put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"We will have to take the lady to hospital, she needs checking over and also samples have to be taken as soon as possible."

"Yes, yes, I understand, but I will take her."

Harry took his shirt and jacket that were held out to him and quickly buttoned them up. Then stooping he lifted Ruth up like a sleeping child and holding her close to his chest carried her out of the room and down the stairs. Adam caught him up as they reached a waiting ambulance.

"I'll come with you Harry."

"No Adam, book into another hotel under a new alias. Try the Palace Hotel on 32nd Avenue, it's discrete, I've used it before. I'll make contact with you. Get hold of Malcolm, we walked into a trap, someone connected to Sword of St Michael must have recognised us, maybe even in the UK. That leak has got to be identified and fast."

Harry was interrupted by a short, harassed man in plain clothes.

"Excuse me but neither of you are going anywhere until we get some answers. My name's Michael del Torro, I'm with the FBI and you're coming with me now."

Harry's eyes narrowed and his face assumed the pugnacious scowl it always did when he was challenged

"I'm going with my injured colleague to the hospital and you'll have to shoot to stop me – not good for Anglo-American diplomacy."

The American sighed

"Well neither is conducting a clandestine operation on an ally's sovereign soil Mr Pearce – it is Mr Pearce isn't it? Why don't you both come in my car and we'll follow the ambulance?"

Harry very reluctantly nodded a terse agreement and shut the ambulance door.

Adam noted the bullet-proof glass on the stretch Cadillac as they sat together in the rear of the car – obviously FBI budgets were a lot more generous than their Special Branch counterparts in the UK. Del Torro held out his hand to Adam and Harry

"I'm sorry we meet under such unfortunate circumstances"

"Not at all" Harry once more assumed his calm, professional exterior, even as his mind was filled with the image of the naked guard violating Ruth in front of him

"thank you for rescuing us. How much do you know of Sword of St Michael and how incidentally did you know of our whereabouts?

"Well to answer your last query first. We received an urgent call into our Chicago office to a certain Clarice James, who apparently has a long-term connection with your injured colleague. Anyway one of your UK officers with a rather distinguished name which escapes me.."

"Malcolm Wynn-Jones" interjected Adam

"Yes, that's right. Well he contacted Clarice and told her that your colleague had rung him and said that you were being tortured by members of this group and needed immediate assistance. I was of course somewhat sceptical when the red alert came through into my office – as you will appreciate we get a lot of crank calls – but I contacted Mr Wynn-Jones, who confirmed that two senior MI5 officers were indeed over here on an undercover operation and were in trouble and so here we are. Glad to be of assistance – what else would you like, a guided tour of the White House or have you already done that?"

"We're not here to undermine the authority of the US Government. We had specific information that the group Sword of St Michael were planning an assassination attempt on the Royal Family in London with the tacit support of certain CIA operatives there. You will appreciate that we couldn't go through the usual channels because we don't know who is compromised with that organisation."

"Well, how do you know to trust me?"

"You would not have arrived so promptly if you were directly involved but the head of the group"

"Oh yes Mr Coyle"

"Ah, so you know about him?"

"Yes, he's been on our radar for some time, but we had nothing concrete to link him to illegal activities, just a long and impressive list of influential friends."

"Well anyway our Mr Coyle intimated that he had contacts in most arms of National Security including the FBI as well as the CIA, so these are murky waters to be swimming in; I'd watch my back if I were you."

"What do you know of Sword of St Michael's activities beyond the assassination plot?"

"Well we have reliable information from one American supporter whose mouth was considerably bigger than his brain, that they were responsible for the Michigan bombing."

"Ah yes" del Torro's expression became cagey and Harry suspected he knew more about it than he was prepared to reveal.

"Let's put our cards on the table shall we. My primary concern is UK National Security. I would not by choice be treading on your toes but needs must and given the compromising involvement of certain branches of the CIA I had no choice but come here directly. If we are going to nail this bastard and shut down his operation then we are going to have to trust each other and share information."

Adam raised his eyebrows slightly when Harry used the term 'nail' in reference to Coyle. There was something in his tone that suggested a literal rather than a metaphorical meaning. He hoped that Harry's desire for revenge was not going to cloud his judgement; although Adam shared his intimation that Coyle's destiny should be painful and terminal. Harry continued in the authoritative and urgent manner that his colleagues back at Thame's House were well used to.

"Let's get this straight. Your priority as I understand it, is to establish a watertight connection between Coyle and the Michigan bombing and arrest him. Our priority is to identify the Sword of St Michael contacts in the UK and specifically the Muslim stooge they have smuggled out of Guantanamo Bay and into the UK to carry out the assassination"

Here del Torro whistled and looked genuinely surprised

"Yes well, a reversal of the usual CIA modus operandi of illegally smuggling Muslims out of the UK and into Gunatanamo I admit; but it is vital we find the connection in the next 24 hours as we have good reason to suspect that the UK cell has been green lit. Can you investigate the Guantanamo route without arousing the interest of the CIA?"

"Oh yes" said del Torro with satisfaction "We're experts at dodging the CIA. It's a rite of passage for aspiring FBI operatives to out-manoeuvre our more glamorous cousins who lord it over us from their extremely spacious pad down the road. We'll have to start by suppressing the story of your activities in the US – not only will the shit hit the fan diplomatically it will certainly bring the lice out of the woodwork and you'll be out of my jurisdiction before you can say George Washington"

"Well as a kick off" said Adam "we can tell you that the head of the CIA operation in the UK is directly involved in the plot." Del Torro raised his eyebrows

"Oh our Mr Roscoe with his idiosyncratic sex life, well well; Coyle is moving in elevated circles."

"Yes, and we suspect that these circles extend into the White House and Capital Hill over on this side of the water."

At this point the ambulance drew up in front of a vast structure of faceless plate-glass and aluminium. Ruth was stretchered out of the back and onto a waiting gurney whilst trying to raise herself up on her elbows, protesting that she didn't need to be carried. Harry, traumatised by a glimpse of the blood that was trickling down her legs, went up and grasped her hand. Trying to keep the tremble out of his voice he said

"Stay put Ruth, you're not allowed to move until you've been examined."

She looked up into his face and a cloud passed over his features as he saw more clearly the beating she had been given

"Please Harry, take me home. I don't want any more humiliation."

"I promise Ruth, as soon as they've checked you over and …" here Harry hesitated

"I know" she whispered "as soon as they've taken swabs for DNA and HIV tests."

"Oh God, Ruth, I'm so sorry, so very, very sorry."

She managed to smile at him even though her lips were cut and her face felt stiff and sore

"It's not your fault Harry. As usual I acted without thinking and at least we got out alive. If Mace had had his way .."

"Mace, you mean Oliver Mace" Harry's face looked thunderous "you mean it was he that identified us?"

"Well we're not certain, but Malcolm thinks he's the most likely suspect. He found an email from Roscoe to Coyle in the CIA files he hacked into, warning that you and Adam had flown out from Heathrow to New York. And it said you had been identified by an ex-colleague"

Harry ground his teeth in anger

"This time it's his throat I'm going to cut."

"No Harry, listen to me. This has been horrible and terrifying but we've survived. I don't want you attacking Mace and ending up in prison again – we might not be so lucky in getting you out next time."

A doctor came out to examine Ruth and pushed Harry away from the gurney

"Don't touch me" Harry said in a quiet and extremely menacing voice.

"Come on Harry" Adam put himself between the worried looking doctor and his distraught and very angry boss.

"This isn't going to help Ruth or stop the assassination. Let the medics do their job and we'll get on and do ours. I'll go with del Torro and work on the Gunatanamo Bay connection and contact Malcolm. Ring me as soon as you have news of Ruth and can join us."

"Did you hear what she said Adam it was that bastard Mace who most likely set us up."

"Yes, Harry and don't worry we'll make sure he gets his just desserts, but let's deal with one snake at a time and the priority at the moment is Coyle and his cronies. Mace won't be going anywhere. He thinks we're both safely at the bottom of the Potomac river with concrete boots, so lets leave him thinking that at least until Coyle informs him otherwise."

Adam jumped back into the car with del Torro whilst Harry hurried after the huddled figure of Ruth curled up on the gurney that was being pushed through the main entrance of the hospital. If the medics had turned their attention to Harry and checked his blood pressure he would probably have been made to join Ruth on the stretcher. Worry about Ruth's injuries, about possible infections, about what long-term psychological damage she might suffer, about what affect it might have on their relationship, about how and when he would seek revenge on Coyle and Mace for the suffering they had inflicted on her; about how they were going to identify the Guantanamo stooge or indeed the whole Sword of St Michael cell in the UK, about what repercussions there would be following the discovery of their clandestine operation in the US, about how the remainder of his group were coping without him on the Grid; about how they would be able to smuggle Ruth back into the UK and keep her safe, about the inevitable and unpleasant conversation with Juliet that would inevitably follow his return, about whether he had left enough pet food in the kitchen and cancelled the milk!! All these thoughts were chasing each other round in his mind in a cacophony that was sending his stress levels through the stratosphere. Anyone attempting to cross him in the next few hours was likely to be blown away by the force of his temper.


	13. Chapter 13

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 13**_

**THE GRID:**_ Exterior shot of Thame's House fades into a view of the meeting room with Ros at the head of the table and Malcolm next to her; Zaf and Jo sitting across from each other mid-way down and Juliet sitting at the opposite end to Ros, looking agitated._

" I called this meeting and invited Juliet along, because we have received some urgent news. I'll begin by filling Juliet in. Two days ago Harry received reliable information that there was a plot to assassinate members of the Royal Family. The hit is to be carried out specifically by a Muslim to deliberately cause maximum political turmoil and force through a change of policy on Iran."

Juliet interrupted her:

"Harry receives similar information every day, it doesn't cause him to disappear. Who was the source and where has he gone?"

"The source is not relevant at the moment. What is different about this threat is that it has been planned by an extreme right-wing organisation in the States which goes by the name of Sword of St Michael. It is being backed in the UK by Alex Roscoe and we also suspect the involvement of Oliver Mace. Because of the infiltration of the CIA, Harry felt the only option was to go over there and try and contact the group directly."

"You mean Harry has personally launched a clandestine operation on US soil? Oh my God what was he thinking of? Who else is involved?"

"Adam."

Ros had made the decision prior to the meeting to keep Ruth out of the equation and had forewarned the others not to raise her name in Juliet's presence. Firstly it would be seen to compromise Harry's judgement and actions in Juliet's eyes, although Ros felt that conclusion was justified. She had never fully bought into the Ruth fan club that flourished on the Grid, although she could see why Harry had fallen for her – they complemented each other perfectly: both were professionally driven, highly intelligent, articulate, warm-hearted and socially inept. Secondly she didn't want Juliet issuing orders that would compromise what Harry wanted to do in terms of returning to the UK and also she didn't entirely trust Juliet's motives or loyalty to the interests of Section D.

"Oh this just gets better. I'm surprised you haven't block booked a flight and transferred the whole Grid over there. Why wasn't I told ?"

"Well obviously Juliet because you would have stopped him."

"Too damn right I would and I'm calling a halt to this appalling mess this instant. Harry's not just risking his own career, he's threatening the welfare of the whole Service, not to mention relations with the Americans at a very sensitive time. What the hell has got into him?"

"Well I think it's a little late to be talking about recall Juliet, I've convened this meeting because Harry and Adam attempted to infiltrate the group this morning; but they had been set up by Roscoe, apparently on the strength of information supplied by Mace. It was touch and go for a while, but Malcolm was worried when they didn't check in at the appointed time and he contacted the FBI."

"Oh great, a full-blown diplomatic incident. Are they alright?"

"Well, yes fortunately the special forces arrived on time and the FBI agent in charge of the rescue has agreed to co-operate and hush things up for now as he is aware of the activities of the Sword of St Michael group and wants our assistance."

"Of all the stupid, ill-conceived, bungled ideas. Who does he think he is Biggles?"

Juliet's concerns were multi-faceted : those she had outlined already, namely that Harry's actions threatened Anglo-American relations and also the well-being of the service were echoed in her additional anxiety that such a rogue action would have repercussions for her own position. Also underpinning these thoughts was alarm at what might have happened to Harry if the FBI had not reached him in time. They might clash swords frequently and he was basically a stubborn, insubordinate pain-in-the-arse, but she still had a place in her heart for him and the thought of him being tortured by extremists was not a pleasant one.

"Anyway" said Ros, trying to maintain control over the discussions "the focus of this meeting is to plan our response in the UK. The threat is real and it's imminent. The group have organised to smuggle out of Guantanamo Bay a Muslim who holds a UK passport and use him for the assassination. Adam is liasing with the FBI agent to try and establish who he is and how he was brought out, but we are certain that he is now in the UK and in contact with a self-contained cell of Sword of St Michael. Harry is sure that the assassination has already been green-lit from the US and is intended to be carried out in the next 24 hours. This is our number one priority. All resources must be concentrated on locating the cell and neutralising it."

"Excuse me Ms Myers but I believe **I** am the senior officer here by some considerable margin and **I** will conduct this operation."

"I'm sorry Juliet, but co-operate yes; control, no. Harry left me with authority to run this Section in his absence and that's what I intend to do until he returns. We need you to see how far the group has infiltrated into MI5 and 6 and Special Branch and if possible locate Oliver Mace. The leader of the Sword of St Michael, a Canadian by the name of Seamus Coyle, told Harry that he had supporters at the highest level of the UK Government and Security Services; and that was when he believed he was about to have Harry killed, so we must take his claim seriously."

"Ok" Juliet breathed deeply and calmed the rising panic that the scale of the problem outlined by Ros was beginning to cause in her mind. "You and what's left of Section D will focus on locating the cell as you said. I will make some discreet enquiries about the nature and extent of support for Sword of St Michael within Whitehall and both sides of the river; but I am to be updated immediately on any developments and I want you to get hold of Harry and tell him to contact me as soon as possible – no excuses, no prevarication, tell him from me that I don't care if he's riding shotgun for Custer at Little Big Horn, I want him back in touch and accountable. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Juliet" they all chorused meekly and Ros smiled bleakly at her.

"Hmm" thought Juliet. "I trust them even less when they are compliant than when they are plotting." She moved around the table and wheeled herself out of the room.

As soon as she was gone Zaf immediately said:

"Right, now we've disposed of our headmistress, what is the real situation and how is Ruth?"

A shadow fell across Ros's features

"I'm afraid Ruth has had a rough time. It was she who initially went in to try and rescue Harry and Adam who were about to be worked on. Fortunately she had the presence of mind to ring Malcolm just before she entered the room where they were being held and he contacted the FBI; but before they could get there she was discovered, beaten up and raped in front of Harry and Adam."

"Oh God no" moaned Jo "Poor Ruth. How bad is it?"

"Well we are still waiting to hear from Harry. She's in the hospital and he told Malcolm that she is badly beaten but he doesn't think she has any broken bones. He didn't mention any other details and we didn't like to ask. It must have been really tough for both Harry and Adam, apparently they were forced to witness the whole attack and of course it must have been terrifying and devastatingly humiliating for Ruth."

"What will happen to those bastards?" said Zaf; all trace of his usual humorous expression replaced by anger in his eyes and a hard set of his jaw.

Malcolm who was more than usually subdued due to his feelings of guilt that he had not done more to persuade Ruth to stay out of the building, spoke up "Adam told me that the one who raped Ruth met with an unfortunate accident as he was being restrained; but the other two are being questioned by the FBI at the moment. They still won't be able to arrest Coyle unless they can uncover direct evidence of his involvement with the bombing in Michigan a couple of month's ago, which we were told by a reliable source was the responsibility of the Sword of St Michael, nor indeed until he can be linked with the UK plot."

Ros decided to snap them out of their preoccupation with the fate of their colleagues.

"Right, our focus of attention has to be the UK cell. It won't be easy. We are seeking to identify an organisation operating outside of the usual terrorist affiliations and therefore it's unlikely we will find a trace of them through the usual channels. Our best hope is to try and locate the Guantanamo Bay stooge, but it is going to be difficult. The CIA will have smuggled him in aboard one of the illicit flights that seem to have as much regularity across our airspace these days as the Easyjet routes to Spain. Malcolm, can you re-check your CIA files and see if there is any mention of any 'special deliveries' in the last week and also try and check the air traffic control records of unofficial, non-commercial flights into UK airports in the same period."

Malcolm nodded affirmatively but groaned inwardly "I wish I had Ruth here with her Trojan determination and talent for lateral thinking, to try and make sense of such a huge amount of data."

"Zaf, get hold of Adam and see what he's found out about the Guantanamo Bay connection at his end and also check when he's coming home. With so much possible rogue CIA involvement not to mention the sympathetic elements within our own security forces, we desperately need his counter-surveillance expertise. We can't begin to fight this threat with our own departments leaking like a proverbial sieve. I hope Juliet comes up with some names and fast. Jo, you give Malcolm a hand but be ready to go into the field if Zaf or Adam need you. I'm going to make some discreet enquiries with my former colleagues across the river."

"Be careful Ros, the current regime make a nest of vipers look well behaved" warned Malcolm in his quiet voice.

"Don't worry Malcolm, I'm used to the snake pit, remember I used to work there; besides which if I can survive Juliet's venom I must be immune."

_Scene: Run down small flat in an anonymous concrete complex with graffiti on the walls, fermented urine in the corridors and stray dogs sniffing round the walkways. Inside are five men and one woman. One is of middle-eastern appearance with a haggard face and unkempt hair. The others are all white. Three are in their 20's, dressed in jeans and hoodies. The remaining man is older, perhaps 40, with spiked hair with a dusting of grey and a more forceful manner._

"

Have you got the explosives assembled as I instructed?" The older man's voice has a distinct estuary twang .

"Yes, Jimmy finished them this morning."

"I don't want one of your old IRA cock-ups, we are only going to get one shot at this and that diversion has got to work. Our American colleagues are not playing games. They made it quite clear when I met up with them that failure is not an option. Get this right and you could be looking at a direct involvement in other European and possibly US operations. Get it wrong and your wife will be cashing in the life assurance policy."

"Don't worry" said a female voice in a soft Irish accent "if he screws up it won't be the Americans who will be finishing him off."

This raised general amusement amongst the group, except for the middle-eastern man, who looked depressed and scared. The older man put his arm around his shoulders

"Are you not enjoying your freedom Asim? We can arrange for you to go back to Guantanamo if you prefer."

"Oh no, I'm really happy to be here" he protested "and I want very much to do this. Show these decadent Western pigs that their time is over."

The limey smiled. As far as Asim Maser was concerned this assassination was part of an Irish Nationalist/Muslim alliance to attack and undermine the British Government. Which was true to a certain extent. It was just the outcome that they were envisaging differently. Asim dreamed of an Al Qaeda linked campaign to overthrow the British authorities that had orchestrated the invasion of Iraq and continued to support the American Imperialists. The limey and his affiliated group, the Sword of St Michael, intended likewise to destabilise the Government, but with the intention of initiating further and more draconian measures in the Middle East. Both desired at the extreme 'final solutions', just not the same one.

"Right, we will be moving into position in" here he checked his watch "less than 20 hours. I want him spruced up, suited and booted; more IT professional, less asylum seeker fresh off the underside of a lorry. Policemen are racist snobs, the more western and middle-class he looks, the less they will notice him. Are you all clear what you have to do and when?"

They all nodded in agreement. Asim tried to look confident, but he was uneasy, surrounded by these white faces. He knew he was their pawn, but they had got him out of that hell-hole and his current position was nothing compared to the humiliations he had endured in the last two and half years. Yes, he would prefer to be in a cave in Afghanistan or at least in his gran's front room in Derby; but this was still an improvement on his situation a week ago.

_Scene: Hospital bed in a private room. White walls decorated with bright, slightly kitsch prints and a bewildering array of high tec equipment pushed against the wall._

Ruth lay back on the pillow with her eyes closed, her legs raised in stirrups that allowed the nurse a clear view to take the swabs. Harry sat with his back to the nurse and held Ruth's hand. He had been in that position ever since they had deposited her on the bed an hour earlier, despite pressing encouragement from the medical staff for him to remove himself whilst they conducted their examination. If he was Ruth's anchor in this ordeal then they would have to drag him out under force. Through the fog of her pain and the sedatives they had given her, Ruth had heard snippets of the conversation between Harry and the doctor:

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave"

"I'm not going anywhere"

"Are you the next of kin?"

"Of course, I'm her husband"

"She's not wearing a wedding ring"

"I'm not wearing a noose around my neck, it doesn't mean I'm not married!"

The doctor wasn't convinced, but he didn't relish the prospect of an out and out confrontation with this formidable and imperious man and also the patient seemed relaxed and happy to have him with her.

"Well it's very irregular, but I suppose you can stay at least for now."

Flashbacks of the scene in the Penthouse continued to haunt Harry's conscious thoughts and the sound of Ruth's screams assailed his senses. She was a gentle and brave soul, why did this have to happen to her? The whole experience of the rape and the humiliating examination might scar her deeply and he dreaded what long-term damage it might do to someone not used to the discipline of partitioning off unpleasant experiences and locking them away deep in the psyche. Not a healthy policy he admitted to himself, but one which had allowed him to continue as an MI5 officer, despite repeated traumatic experiences, not least the loss of numerous close and cherished colleagues.

The doctor appeared at the door and gestured to him to come outside. Harry kissed Ruth's hand and laid it back on the bed.

"We've done the preliminary examination and swabs and the overall news is good. There are no broken bones, although one of her kidneys is swollen where it appears she was kicked and she obviously has severe bruising to the face and torso. In respect of the rape, the assailant did not ejaculate, so the good news is that it is very unlikely she will have contracted HIV, although we are going to give her antibiotics to counter any other STD's and obviously the risk of pregnancy is similarly negligible. On the other hand of course it means that we have very little DNA evidence to link the suspect to the rape.

"Don't worry" said Harry grimly, finding it difficult to control his emotions in the light of the factual details being presented by the doctor that made him re-live the trauma of the scene yet again "he was killed whilst being apprehended and …" here Harry paused and breathed out heavily "there were witnesses to the event, so direct DNA evidence is not vital."

"Fine" said the doctor "well we should keep her in at least overnight to make sure there are no more complications and to monitor the kidney and the internal bleeding."

"Is that all?" responded Harry somewhat brusquely – a tendency to cut through extraneous conversations and unnecessary time-consuming small-talk, was a habit hard to break and Harry didn't feel inclined to stand chatting with the medic who was standing in front of him. "Thank you for your efforts, I'm hoping my wife can make a speedy recovery and put this behind her."

"I'm afraid it might not be as simple as that, I'm sure you will appreciate that violent sexual attacks can scar the patient beyond the merely physical?"

"Yes, yes, of course" said Harry, not wanting to be dragged into cod-psychology by the well meaning but limited American doctor. He turned and stepped back into the room, leaving the doctor feeling that he had been summarily dismissed. It was an uncomfortable state and not one he was used to. The majority of relatives looked upon him as a saviour and miracle-worker; this man appeared more to dismiss him as a junior subordinate – he would have a great future as a hospital consultant if he fancied a career change, the doctor thought ruefully.

Ruth had her eyes open and was trying to struggle off the bed when Harry came in.

"Ruth, what precisely are you doing?"

"What does it look like Harry, I want to do a spot of Tai Chi to keep in shape!!"

Harry was relieved to hear the caustic wit of the old Ruth returning but he was concerned for her welfare

"The doctor said …."

"And since when have you taken any notice of what doctors say, particularly American doctors?" demanded Ruth. "We can't stay here, it's too risky and also you've got to get back to London as soon as possible. You can't afford the luxury of sitting here all night holding my hand like a love-sick teenager, you've got a job to do Harry."

He knew she was right but he was still concerned about her:

"Ruth, you've got a damaged kidney, severe bruising and internal bleeding, you can't leave here."

"Firstly I'm the best judge of what I can do Harry. Secondly you're in no position to lecture me considering you yourself crawled out a hospital bed with a serious shotgun wound and made it back to the Grid to defend the Section and were in a far worse state than I am and thirdly if Coyle and his CIA cronies track us down, a few cuts and bruises will be the least of our problems. Help me get my clothes on, we have already stayed here too long – you know I'm right."

Harry looked into her earnest and animated face and knew both that what she was saying was true and also that when she was that determined it was almost impossible to dissuade her "Ok, ok, but you're not walking anywhere."

Harry helped Ruth on with her clothes and then carried her through the door and placed her in a wheelchair that was parked at the end of the corridor. They moved swiftly out of the hospital and hailed a yellow cab that was about to pull away from the front entrance.

"The Palace Hotel" Harry instructed the driver.

"The airport" countered Ruth, a stubborn mule-like expression on her battered face.

Harry opened his mouth to protest and then sighed

"Alright the airport, but you're coming with me."

"Don't be stupid Harry, my being with you will only draw unnecessary attention to you and complicate the situation. You've got to get out now before Coyle realises what has happened and alerts his CIA contacts. Get on the first flight out and I will go back to New York and stay with friends."

"You" said Harry very firmly and glaring at her with flaming eyes "are coming with me Mrs Pearce and that is non-negotiable. Besides .." here his eyes softened and momentarily glinted with humour, "I thought it was a wife's duty to be at her husband's side?"

Ruth's blush was discernable through the bruising that was mottling her pale skin

"And I thought you said that men did not bring their wives to Washington Harry?"

"Yes, but London is a different matter."

Ruth could see that it was pointless arguing with him. She might be stubborn but compared to Harry in resolute mood she knew she was not going to win the argument.

"Alright then, but I'll have to stop at a drug store and buy some makeup to conceal these bruises or you will be arrested as a wife beater before we get anywhere."

Harry smiled at her "One day" he thought "perhaps I won't have to be joking when I refer to her as my wife and when and if that day comes she will have to learn that out of harms way means out of harms way and not into the lion's mouth!"

"Seriously, Ruth, are you sure you can manage this. It's a long journey and you've just been through a horrendous and traumatic experience."

"Don't Harry" Ruth put her fingers on his lips to silence him. "I can manage this only if I put what has happened out of my mind at the moment. Just I need to know what the tests revealed."

"Once again" thought Harry "she has surprised me with her resilience and her strength, she'll survive this even if she can't forget it."

"Don't worry, the tests were negative, the scum didn't finish what he started, so the likelihood of either HIV or pregnancy are negligible."

Harry was clearly uncomfortable speaking of such personal matters, particularly in the light of what they had both experienced.

"Thanks Harry. I know it must have been terrible for you and Adam to witness. I just want to die of shame when I think of it, but I won't give them the satisfaction of ruining my life, our lives. Let's just focus on the next few hours shall we?"

She squeezed his hand and laid her head against his shoulder. She wished she would prove to be as brave as she was trying to convince him was the case.

_Scene: Cabin of an aircraft. Ruth is in the window seat with Harry next to her._

"Excuse me but is this seat taken?" a soft Irish voice enquired as a tall figure leaned from the aisle towards Harry who was resting with his eyes closed.

"No but you'll need space for the paramedics if you give me heart failure. What the hell are you doing here?"

Adam grinned and sat down in the aisle seat. "The same as you, looking to fly somewhere cooler."

"Yes well, that's probably wishful thinking. According to Malcolm, Juliet wants my head on a pike outside Thame's House and the rest of me roasted on a spit and she probably has a similar reception waiting for you. Apparently the temperature was pretty near boiling point at the last run-in between her and Ros; so if you're looking for temperate climes I suggest you try Greenland."

"Talking of our Thames House compadres, how is the hunt for our Guantanamo inmate progressing?"

"As far as I can tell it's not. Malcolm is still ploughing through the data but has so far drawn a blank with trying to establish where he landed. Zaf is out rattling cages and looking under rocks but so far all our usual sources have drawn a blank As for Juliet, trying to establish friend from foe in the political cesspool will be a time-consuming business and time is the one luxury we haven't got."

Adam looked across at the sleeping Ruth, whose face was still obviously swollen and disfigured by cuts and angry purple bruises despite the liberal coating of foundation and the defiant slash of red lipstick. He lowered his voice and a more urgent note replaced the lighter bantering tone of earlier

"What about Ruth, Harry? If Mace was stalking us on the way out we can't be sure he hasn't already heard of our escape and be waiting for our return; not to mention the fact that we can't avoid the MI6 and Special Branch heavies on our way in. If any of them identify Ruth it's going to make a complicated situation a whole lot worse not to mention the fact that it could land both of you in prison at a time when we desperately need every hand to the helm."

"I know it's risky Adam but we don't have a choice; if we'd waited any longer in Washington the net would have closed around us and much as I appreciate del Torro's help I don't think he would be a match for Coyle's cohorts in the CIA. Malcolm and I had a plan but I'm not sure whether Ruth is in a state to carry it out, we'll have to see. If not we'll have to wing our way through. Anyway if you don't mind I'd like to get some rest before we have to face the rigours of Heathrow baggage control."

"But we haven't got any baggage Harry" said Adam looking confused.

Scene: Harry and Adam walk though passport control together. Harry makes a terse nod of acknowledgement to the CCTV camera that is linked to the surveillance booth manned by Special Branch. They emerge from the arrivals hall and step into the black Lexus driven by Jo that is waiting for them outside.

_Scene: The Grid. People are seen scurrying around carrying folders and large bundles of files, whilst others are glued to computer screens. Malcolm leaves his station and greets the two men who have arrived with one of the large metal containers used by the American Embassy to courier their papers._

"Ah yes. Good. This won't take long. It appears that the seal on this box is faulty so Customs need it repairing in case embarrassing questions are asked. It will only take me about 10 minutes. Carry it through there and then grab yourselves a cup of coffee."

The container was deposited in the document room and the two men trundled off to find liquid refreshment. Malcolm shut the door and quietly turned the key. Moving swiftly to the container he inserted a device into the locks and quickly opened them. Peering inside he said:

"Are you alright Ruth?"

"I think so" came a small muffled voice "can you help me out Malcolm, I'm afraid I'm a bit stiff."

Malcolm reached into the container and gently half-pulled, half-lifted Ruth out and laid her on the floor.

"I'm so pleased to see you Ruth, but I feel dreadful that this happened to you. I should have stopped you from going in."

"Absolutely not Malcolm. Firstly it wasn't your fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. It's in the nature of this job that we take risks and sometimes they work and sometimes they don't. But anyway I had to go in; it would have been even worse if they had had an opportunity to carry out the torture on Harry and Adam. Either way, you did all you could and if it wasn't for your prompt response none of us would be here so you have nothing to reproach yourself for."

Malcolm gave her a small smile. He wasn't completely convinced, but he was delighted to see her again, even in such difficult circumstances and her words did take the edge off his anxiety.

"Excuse me Ruth, I'll have to get this container put together again."

"Won't the Americans be suspicious of an empty container Malcolm?"

"Oh no, Harry had an extra one made up, a dummy, so this will disappear once the two Special Branch chaps deliver it back to Heathrow."

Ruth smiled – it was so typical of Harry to have pre-planned this, he was always several steps ahead of the game, he must be a lethal chess player – she would have to put him to the test one of these days.

"Now, as soon as this container is removed, Zaf is going to take you down to the car and get you to a safe house. We can't risk you being recognised here."

"Its all rather John Le Carre, Malcolm. Should I be wearing a trench coat?"

Malcolm smiled "I think that might be taking it a little too far but

"_We must take the current when it serves_

_Or lose our ventures"_

_Scene: Zaf drives the black Lexus up the narrow road and turns off his headlights, gliding noiselessly for the last 200 yards. He has parked adjacent to a tall brick wall in which just discernible in the darkness is a wooden door._

The garden door opened quickly and Harry emerged looking carefully to his left and right. He reached out and opening the back door lifted Ruth from her prone position along the back seat.

"Get back to Thames House and help Malcolm with that description I left him. I'll get a couple of hours sleep and then I'll come in. Thanks Zaf."

Zaf nodded his agreement, briefly smiled at the huddled Ruth and reversed the car up into the gloom. Harry turned and swiftly moved through the gate, kicking it shut behind him and felt his way in the darkness through the garden and up into the unlit interior of the house.

"Isn't this very risky Harry," she whispered to him.

"No, they won't be watching my house, they're more interested in the activities at Thame's House and you're dead remember? Besides I've waited more years than I care to remember to get you inside my house and I don't intend to be discouraged now." Harry smiled down at Ruth and very gently kissed her. She responded by putting her arms around his neck and drawing his face down to her whispered "and you don't know how many years I have wanted to be here."

"Welcome home Mrs Pearce."


	14. Chapter 14

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 14**_

_Scene: Interior of Harry's house. The curtains are drawn and there is a soft glow of light from the shaded wall lights and an ornate standard lamp that stands to one side of a large chesterfield settee. The overall impression, however, is of a spartan house, whose owner spent little time on its interior design and even less in occupying it. There is evidence of habitation in the neat piles of newspapers and books, the jacket hung over a chair and the glass tumblers scattered over various tables, but it does not have a lived-in feel – it is a house but not a home_.

Harry fussed over Ruth, making sure she was comfortable on the settee, fetching her extra pillows and a blanket.

"Harry" Ruth protested "I'm not an invalid, please sit down."

"I know" said Harry, ignoring her, "sweet tea, just what you need to revive you after your ordeal in the container."

"Yes, tea would be lovely Harry, but please, no sugar."

Harry returned from the kitchen with two mugs.

"Hello darling I've missed you so much."

"Rather effusive for Ruth" thought Harry with pleasure until he spotted the grey cat purring on her knee. He hesitated where he should sit. He wanted to place himself close to Ruth and cradle her in his arms, but she was looking tired and rather withdrawn and so he settled for the adjacent chair. They discussed Fidget's diet, the status of the operation, what Malcolm was working on, what Adam had found out with del Torro, what realistically were their chances of finding the cell before the assassination attempt was launched.

All the while the elephant of the Washington trauma sat in the room, whilst they continued to pretend it didn't exist. Harry was leaving it to Ruth to decided when, if at all, she wanted to discuss what had happened; whilst Ruth wanted to avoid giving Harry any more cause to mollycoddle her and also worried about letting the emotional genie out of the bottle –the last thing Harry needed was her a sobbing wreck in his living room. Gradually a silence fell between them, as they ran out of pertinent things to say that did not in some way impinge on either the rape or Ruth's presence in the UK without any resolution to the charges that hung over her.

"Er, Harry, do you have a spare bedroom in the house?"

Harry's heart sank as he realised the implication of what she was asking.

"I've several Ruth, I'm a bachelor remember, why do you ask?"

"Well, do you mind if I use one of them. I'm really tired and I just would like to be on my own."

"Of course, I'll go and sort it out." Harry felt a cold depression seeping over him. It had begun. Ruth was withdrawing into her shell, rejecting him. All the hopes and dreams about their future together that had been nurtured in his imagination since their reunion in New York, were fading rapidly. He wanted to seize her in his arms and tell her that it didn't matter what he had seen or what she had suffered, the most important thing was that they loved each other, that he loved her more than anything and he could wait for her to want physical contact again, just not to turn away from him. What he did however was to smile at her with pain and dejection in his eyes and move quietly upstairs.

Ruth hated herself for what she was doing; the expression in his eyes was heartbreaking, but she didn't see that she had an alternative. Swallowing two more painkillers, she moved slowly off the settee and followed Harry up the stairs. Averting his eyes from her he showed her the bathroom, the light switches and the location of spare blankets.

"I'll leave my door open in case you need anything, just call." The unspoken longing hung between them, palpable, an open wound painful to the touch. Ruth glanced past the bulk of Harry's form framed in the doorway of his bedroom and saw the large double bed beyond, solid and inviting. She felt a pang of desire catch in her stomach. All she wanted, all she had ever wanted for as long as she could remember, was to have Harry lift her up and carry her into his room. She had fantasised about this scenario all those lonely months in New York and indeed in the preceding years when they had edged around each other every day, the electricity almost sparking in the air. And yet here they were now and she was pushing him away. She dropped her eyes in distress.

"Goodnight Harry"

"Goodnight" he said in a hoarse whisper, the words almost choking him and he turned and went into his room. Ruth thrust a fist into her mouth to stop herself crying out for him and with tears trickling down her cheeks she moved into the spare room adjacent to Harry's and shut the door.

Ruth waited for an hour and opening the door of her room put her ear out to check for regular breathing from the sleeping Harry. She shut the door and picking up her phone dialled quickly.

"Hello Malcolm, sorry to disturb you I seem to be making a habit of this recently. Are you still on the Grid? Oh I thought you might be. Do you need help? Never mind about Harry, I'll deal with him. Yes ok. If I telephone you when I arrive can you knock out the cameras and open the doors? Fine, yes I'll see you then. Yes I'm sure. Yes,yes, Malcolm, don't fuss. Not longer than half an hour. Ok. Bye."

Ruth sat down at the dressing table and wrote a note on a sheet of the writing paper provided in the room – "typical Harry with an eye for small details" she thought. She placed the note on the pillow of the unused bed and slipped quietly downstairs.

Harry woke to the sound of his alarmclock going off. For a few seconds he felt disorientated and his body was clammy with cold sweat. His dreams had been vivid and disturbing: images of men advancing on him with metal skewers faded into Ruth's face retreating into the distance as she pulled away from him and no matter how far he reached out he couldn't touch her. His brain quickly sifted dream from reality. Ruth may be traumatised but she was here in the UK, in his house, with him at long last and he had to pull himself together and face what was going to be a very long day. He quickly showered and dressed in smart clothes – his long hard day would at some stage include an encounter with Juliet and he felt more comfortable taking her on in his protective armour of Saville Row suit and Jermyn Street shirt and tie. He didn't want to disturb Ruth, but he couldn't resist gazing at her before he left. Quietly he opened the door of her bedroom and looked in. His eyes pivoted on the unused bed and the note propped up against the pillow and his heart sank.

"Where the hell had she disappeared to this time? Why hadn't he realised what she was planning last night when she demanded a separate room?"

Harry snatched up the note and read it with impatience and growing alarm:

_My Dearest Harry_

_Please don't think that I am rejecting you – I love you more than ever and you will never know what degree of self-control I had to exert last night not to lie down in your bed with you. The truth is, I think this whole arrangement is far too hazardous. You are facing attack on all fronts – rogue elements within the UK, hostile CIA agents not to mention our mutual friend Mace. You have only a matter of hours to locate that cell and stop the assassination attempt. You need to stay absolutely focused and not have half your mind back behind your front door, nor can Section D afford for you to be arrested at this crucial time. So, if I manage to successfully negotiate your security system, I am going to find an alternative safe house._

_Please do not worry about me. The bruising is already going down, the bleeding has almost stopped and my kidney doesn't hurt any more – I will be fine. I will contact you in a few days and hopefully by then this clear and present danger will have passed and we can then decide what can be done about the 'resurrection' or otherwise of Ruth Evershed. Please for me Harry, don't waste resources trying to find me. Concentrate on the operation. We have waited this long, a few more days are surely bearable._

"_Les mains dans les mains restons face a face_

_Tandis que sous_

_Le pont de nos bras passé_

_Des eternels regards l'ondre si lasse_

_Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure_

_Les jours s'en vont je demeure" _

Harry sighed deeply. He wished most fervently that she had not once again taken it upon herself to protect him when all he wanted was to shield her and keep her close. She might think he was taking unnecessary risks, but his whole life was based upon a continuous assessment of the balance of risk and benefit and he had judged that the odds in this particular instance were not unacceptable. If only she had had more trust in his judgement; but at the same time he appreciated that Ruth was a cautious person, who wherever possible, dealt in certainties rather than chance. Her logical deduction would be: why take a risk if an alternative was available.? Still it was a stupid and rash decision – supposing she was to start haemorrhaging again and blacked out? With a blend of relief that she had not in fact rejected him and anger that she had stubbornly gone against his wishes, Harry slammed first the front door of his house and then the door of the car and accelerated down the street with a screech of tyres.

_Scene: The Grid. Usual exterior shot of Thames House fading into a view across the main room of the Grid._

One look at Harry's countenance as he strode into his office told everyone on the Grid that he was back with a vengeance. He quickly checked the messages on his desk and then reappeared

"Zaf, Jo, Ros and Malcolm, in the meeting room now."

"So much for thank you Ros for holding the fort, fighting off half the JIC and holding Juliet at bay. There's nothing like gratitude to forge the boss/employee relationship" thought Ros as she muttered "Rude bastard" barely under her breath as she marched into the room. The others filed in after her and sat down apprehensively. Things had not gone well. There had been no significant progress on the investigation overnight and Harry looked in one of his black moods, where he would combust at any moment and was certainly not intending to take prisoners in any clash that might arise.

"Right, so apart from running round like headless chickens in my absence, what have you managed to achieve in the last twelve hours of our very limited window of opportunity?"

"Excuse me" interrupted Ros with a steely anger in her voice "whilst you buggered off to New York, taking our best counter-surveillance agent with you and almost causing a huge diplomatic incident with no apparent benefit; we have been keeping this department together in the face of very serious attempts by your JIC cronies to take it over. Oh yes, and also worked continuously without sleep to chase up all the possible leads in this plot. So don't you dare sit there and criticise us for incompetence."

Harry rose from his seat and leaned over Ros, his eyes narrowed and his face white with anger

"What did you just say?" he enquired in a quiet and extremely menacing voice. The rest of the team froze and stared at the desk. Ros opened her mouth to repeat the put-down when another female voice interrupted from the doorway:

"I don't think biting off the heads of your staff is a particularly positive approach at this moment in time Harry. I suggest you focus on finding the cell which as we speak are probably setting up their stall in a corner of Parliament Square, or in case it has escaped your notice Harry, I would like to remind you that it is the official opening of Parliament tomorrow morning."

"Lovely to see you too Juliet. At any other time I would welcome your interruption, but we are in the middle of a briefing."

"Less a briefing more a potential massacre if you ask me – you're on the wrong continent to play cowboys and Indians,"

"Well to stretch your analogy a little further Juliet" replied Harry with a thin smile "this feels more like the Alamo at the moment, besieged on all sides by hostile forces. So tell me what progress have you made in identifying Sword of St Michael supporters within our haloed democratic ranks of self-serving sycophants?"

"Well obviously it's been quite a Stygian task, but I have come up with this preliminary list." Juliet passed over to Harry a typed sheet that contained about 15 names. He scanned down quickly and raising his eyebrows he returned to his seat, gesturing to Juliet to sit next to him.

"Well quite an interesting cross-section of the good and the true; I trust we will have enough on each of them to clarify their thinking and make then see where their loyalties lie?"

"Oh I think so" said Juliet with a dry laugh and looking across sardonically at Harry added " they are all middle-aged men after all!"

Jo dropped her head and smirked.

Harry pursed his lips and glared at Juliet but decided to let her have the last word or they would still be sitting there an hour later batting cutting remarks and insults across the table when there was a crisis to be solved.

"Right, the Guantanamo Muslim, where are we on this one. Malcolm, any joy over night?"

"Er, actually yes Harry. I've been going over the air traffic control reports again and I think I've picked up on something. Five days ago a small airfield near Datchet received a private internal flight that originated in Cardiff. Earlier that day Cardiff air traffic control recorded a flight into it's airport from Amsterdam by a US military plane that had been diverted and had special clearance to use a UK domestic airport."

"How do you know the US flight was carrying our assassin?"

"Ah, because Roscoe had received an email from the US two days earlier, mentioning that there would be a package arriving for him in the following 24 hours that would require signing for near the House of Windsor."

Suddenly a light began to dawn in Harry's mind and his jaw set in the bull-dog expression he adopted when he was determined to get to the bottom of something.

"Excuse us one moment Juliet, I just want to check out these records with Malcolm." He jerked his head to Malcolm, indicating he was to follow him. Malcolm did so with a sinking heart "this is what the antelope must feel like when it spies two amber eyes watching it through the long grass and it realises it won't be able to run fast enough."

"Right" said Harry as soon as they had moved away from the meeting room "we're going to stand over your computer and you are going to explain to me how and when you got Ruth in here and why the hell you didn't ring me immediately."

Harry held his hand up to the blushing Malcolm

"You don't have to attempt to cover up Malcolm, I know you both too well for that. I don't doubt your thoroughness and your strengths, but this lateral deduction has Ruth's signature all over it. So spit it out now!"

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry. Ruth rang me in the early hours of this morning and insisted she come and look through the material. What should I have done. We desperately need to make a breakthrough and you know how good she is at intelligence analysis, the best." This Malcolm said in a soft voice full of regret at her absence over the past twelve months. "She said that you would understand."

Harry snorted with disbelief.

"So she came back to Thames House in the middle of the night in her condition and stayed here how long?"

"Oh, about three hours."

"And how do you know she wasn't spotted?"

"Oh well, I fiddled with the CCTV camera equipment and looped the previous three hours onto it."

Harry groaned "Oh splendid, so not only was a sick colleague, still liable to immediate arrest as a traitor and known to everyone in this building, allowed back in here after I had taken pains to smuggle her out undetected; but in addition the whole of MI5 was blacked out from basic surveillance at a time when we are operating under a level 3 security alert?"

"Well you do encourage us to use our initiative Harry."

"Yes, well, it's done now and you did produce results. So where is Ruth now?"

"Er, I don't know, she left in a hire car and said she would be in touch as soon as she got herself sorted."

At that moment one of the pod doors opened and Adam stepped into the Grid.

"Hi Malcolm miss me?"

The embattled Malcolm smiled weakly at him whilst Harry brought Adam up to speed. "Ruth decided to extend her field agent skills last night and broke out of my house for a secret assignation with Malcolm and several computer's worth of data. She's now disappeared into the blue horizon, God knows where to do God knows what and meanwhile I've got Juliet with full warpaint on and a scalping knife in her hand sitting in on our briefing."

"Don't worry Harry the cavalry's here. I've got some information that will put a smile on even Juliet's face."

"As long as it doesn't include my death warrant I'm in favour, lets go and spread the word."

The three men walked back into the meeting room and Adam sat down and opened up the laptop that he had been carrying.

"Right, I have some information here that I gathered with the help of our friendly FBI agent Michael del Torro which I think fairly conclusively identifies our stooge."

Adam moved the cursor on his computer and a grainy image of several men of middle-eastern appearance appeared on the main screen of the meeting room.

"Ok, the man we're interested in is the figure on the extreme right, he is Asim Maser. Aged 24. Born and raised in Derby to parents of Syrian and Pakistani origin. He attended local schools and was reported to be quiet and industrious if not very bright. At 17 he became involved with one of the orthodox groups at his local mosque and began to wear traditional clothes and grow a beard. He was accepted into the local college of further education to study an HNC in electronics but he had only completed the first year when he disappeared. His family claimed they had no knowledge of his whereabouts but it is believed that he travelled out to family members in Pakistan and from there across the border into Afghanistan where he trained in one of Bin Ladin's camps. Then three years ago he surfaced in Kuwait where he was apprehended by anti-insurgency special forces and handed over to the Americans for questioning. Along with a large handful of other British passport holders suspected of terrorist activities he ended up at Guantanamo."

Here Adam switched the image on the screen to a colour photograph showing the same man in full face and profile shots, wearing the instantly recognisable orange overalls.

"How the hell did you get hold of those" said Zaf with a frown

"Oh you know friends in the right places or rather friends of del Torro in the right places. Anyway our friend Asim mysteriously disappeared from the holiday camp about a week ago but there is no mention of his absence in any of the official records nor have any measures been taken to recapture him"

"Which means" interrupted Zaf "that he was removed deliberately by an official body because no one can get in or out of that place without being challenged and recorded repeatedly, it makes Fort Knox look lax in its security by comparison."

"Exactly, so our Johnny was spirited away, most probably by one of Roscoe's cronies."

"But this" interjected Harry "must have been sanctioned by even more senior members of the CIA, Roscoe couldn't have orchestrated this unless he had backing. There is going to have to be blood-letting in the upper echelons by the time this is finished. So we know who he is and where he came in. The most vital remaining questions are where is he now, who is he with and where are they going to try and strike? Malcolm retrieve all possible CCTV footage from the area around the Datchet airport, hopefully we will get lucky and be able to identify the car they used to pick him up in. If Roscoe intended to sign for his package personally he may have availed himself of one of the CIA's Mercedes so keep a particular eye out for those, but I suspect he will have sent an underling, our friend Roscoe doesn't like to get his hands dirty, well not as far as work is concerned anyway. Ros, Sword of St Michael was founded by Coyle who is Canadian but is of Irish Catholic stock, it might be worth following up extreme catholic religious groups with connections in the US in case they are aiding and abetting on this side of the water. I think Juliet is right, a prime target has got to be the opening of the Houses of Parliament tomorrow. Members of the Royal Family will be exposed throughout the route that leads down the Mall to Westminster. The good thing is if this is the case it means we have another 24 hours before the assassination attempt will actually take place, my guess is that the original reference to the assassination plot being activated today referred to the positioning of the hit squad. Juliet can you get onto Special Branch, tell them about the plot and warn them that we may have to pull the Royal Family out of the event tomorrow if we cannot locate the cell before then."

"We can't pull the Royal Family out, it's the Queen who is opening Parliament for God's sake Harry"

"Yes well if we don't find these jokers in time then they will be exercising their constitutional rights by blasting her across Hyde Park so I might suggest than a no show might actually cause less of a disturbance."

He turned to Adam. "You attack the problem from the other end Adam. Find Oliver Mace and see what he's up to. I would quite happily think the worst of Mace but I cannot see him willing to support Regicide just to up the anti in the Middle East, he's far too much of a traditionalist for that, so what game is he playing getting mixed up in all this? Meanwhile Zaf you and Jo keep shadowing Roscoe. It's unlikely that he is in contact with the cell but there is always the chance that he will lead us somewhere and at the moment we need all the clues we can find."

"Harry we need to talk."

"Not now Juliet, pleasurable as it always is to be rapped over the knuckles by you I've got a job to do and reprimands can wait. Please go and do what you do best – intimidate some politicians. We need to lower the head count of support for Sword of St Michael and fast."

Juliet looked at him with an exasperated expression.

"This isn't going to go away Harry what you did was gross insubordination, breaking every rule in the book."

"Ah yes, just me doing what I do best, Goodbye Juliet."

The remainder of the team rose and hurried off to fulfil their tasks. Malcolm looked over his shoulder at Harry who was talking to Adam and went back to his desk and lifted his phone.

"Hello Ruth, yes Harry has finished his briefing and I have to say that I barely got out alive. Yes I'm sorry too but never mind his bark is worse than his bite, well most of the time anyway. Right, Adam has identified the name of the stooge, he is Asim Maser. Yes I'll send you all his details. Is the laptop connection working, oh good. It's more than my life is worth to bring you back on the Grid. No email me or I'll ring you. I don't think my heart could take the strain of you ringing when I have Harry hovering at my shoulder"

Malcolm almost had heart failure then and there as a powerful hand reached over and took the phone out of his hand

"Hello Ruth, I see it is not just Sword of St Michael who are into conspiracy. Next time please trust me enough to tell me what you are planning instead of doing a midnight flit. As you and Malcolm seem so determined to share each others cyber space I'll leave you to it. Just please tell me that you are somewhere safe; ok and how are you feeling; oh everything's just fine, that's fine. It would be even better if I believed a word you are saying to me. I don't suppose you are willing to tell me where you are? No I thought not. Have you got a direct pager? Oh good Malcolm gave you one, how thoughtful! Well take care and please ring me otherwise I will have to stay perched on Malcolm's desk for the rest of the day and some of us have got a monarchy to save. Yes, so do I. Goodbye Ruth."

Harry put down the phone with a sigh and turned to Malcolm "Whisperings and plottings you would think I was working with an office full of spies! If anything happens to Ruth you had better put some distance between us, now get on with whatever you two are cooking up , just make sure that she stays out of harms way."

"Of course" murmured Malcolm with more confidence than he felt.

Once Harry had retreated to his office, Malcolm logged onto his screen and brought up a profile of Oliver Mace. Opening up his email he typed in the name Alcestis Pearce and clicked 'send'.

* * *

_Translation of the quotation in chapter 14:_

_Extract from Apollinaire's 'Le Pont Mirabeau_

"_Clasp hand in hand, keep face to face_

_Whilst here below_

_The bridge formed by our arm's embrace_

_The waters of our endless longing pass_

_Night may come and clock may sound_

_Within your shadow I am bound."_

(A poetic rather than a literal translation)


	15. Chapter 15

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 15**_

Apologies in advance if you find this chapter confusing. I want to try and recreate the stage in a Spook's episode where the camera shifts rapidly from scene to scene, following the various characters as they carry out their individual assignments. What works visually, however, is much more cumbersome to write down on the page, so this is going to be rather disjointed with quite a few scene descriptions. Having thrown all the balls in the air in the last chapter, however, with Harry marshalling them off in different directions, I've got to somehow keep the impetus going – so bear with me!

* * *

_Scene: Room in neutral tones with a view out over a gated communal garden in a small hotel located in a discreet road near Russell Square. Ruth is seated at a table looking intently at the screen of a laptop with a notepad and pen to hand and a mug of hot coffee and a box of painkillers to one side._

Ruth scrolled down again through the detailed description of Oliver Mace's past and present status and known contacts. It was obviously only an indication of some possible leads – with a man of Mace's connections and devious behaviour, any background information was by definition going to be incomplete. Ruth had however, reached the same conclusion as Harry. Mace's involvement was the one link that could not be logically accounted for. Mace was a ruthless man of few principles other than an innate conservatism and a heightened sense of self-interest. Why was he messed up in the Sword of St Michael plot? What was in it for him? Power? Money? Influence? Influence? Revenge? None of them at the moment made any sense in relation to the American group. Yes, in a very general way he might calculate that if the plot was successful it could lead to Harry's resignation, but that seemed a little nebulous for Mace's schemes. He normally liked to be in the driving seat of any conspiracy as Ruth knew to her cost and what else could Sword of St Michael offer Mace in his bid to re-establish his position, if he indeed wished to do so? It certainly wasn't a common political agenda in respect to Iran, unless Mace had shares in an arms company and was acting out of vested interest. She certainly couldn't see Mace and Coyle making natural bed-fellows – two such oversized egos would never be compatible. No there had to be some devious, oblique connection that they were unaware of. If she could only find the missing link then hopefully they could neutralise a very dangerous adversary and perhaps find a way of contacting the cell.

If she could not find anything in Mace's profile, then perhaps the way forward was to try and establish why he was watching the airport when he recorded Harry and Adam's passage through Heathrow. Certainly he was not acting in a formal capacity for any of the Security forces, he had been in disgrace ever since Cotterdam – her framing of him as a co-conspirator had left him persona non gratia, at least officially. He might well be operating behind the scenes, but he certainly wasn't sitting on the JIC or indeed drawing on the Civil Service payroll. Quite what he was doing was not clear from the latest updates on his profile, but Ruth was sure he was still wheeling and dealing in some capacity. Men like Mace didn't give up the aphrodisiac of power that easily. So what was he doing sniffing around the airport? She supposed the first thing to try and establish was whether MI6 or Special Branch were aware of his presence. Also they would need to check arrivals and departures before, during and after Harry and Adam passed through the airport. Mace had been either waiting for someone or spying on someone when he noticed them. As he had obviously been at the airport on two successive occasions to catch both of them leaving at different times, it was more likely that it was the latter.

Ruth opened up her email and typed in a message:

_Malcolm,_

_Mace doesn't fit the jigsaw. We have to establish what he was doing at the airport when he saw H & A. Check arrivals & departures on all flights for the previous 5 days and subsequent up to today, particularly any transatlantic flights and cross-check names and photo ID with our database. Also check through CCTV for Heathrow and see if we can locate either Mace and/or a possible contact. Finally check SB and MI6 records to see if there is any mention of Mace at Heathrow. I'll tackle the GCHQ_ _database and see if there is any record of calls linked either to Mace, Coyle, Roscoe or Sword of St Michael. Let me know if there is any way my former colleagues in Cheltenham can trace back my hacking beyond TH as H will have both our heads on the block if I blow my cover investigating Mace behind his back! _

_I'll also follow up the Asim Maser investigation, although beyond checking on the present whereabouts of family members, I don't see that it is going to get us any closer to the cell. He's been in Guantanamo for two & half years and the cell will not have allowed him to make contact with his family. Neither will terrorist contacts be of much help. It appears he was chosen by chance – as being of the right ethnic mix and a British passport holder, so chasing up former contacts seems pointless. It seems to me that this cell has not connection with Middle Eastern terror organisations beyond choosing a Muslim as a stooge and political tool._

_Please keep me in touch._

Ruth 

Five minutes later a return message from Malcolm appeared on her screen:

Ruth 

_Your deductions as usual seem spot on and I will do as you suggest, although I am already snowed under with H & R's requests. H has fortunately stopped pacing round my desk watching me like a panther in need of a square meal and disappeared. He has organised R to research into possible connections between S.of S.M. and extremist Catholic groups in this country & A has been detailed to find Mace as H is obviously also not happy with the rationale behind M's involvement in this whole affair._

_SB have been warned about a possible assassination attempt tomorrow morning and have been instructed to be on an even more heightened alert than usual; but along such an extended route and not knowing if we are dealing with a bomb, a sniper, a chemical or rocket attack, it's almost impossible to be certain the sweep has been 100 per cent successful. H favours securing the R F in Pegasus but J has blocked that option. If we do not locate the cell and neutralise it by this evening then there will however be an emergency Cobra meeting and a contingency plan of action drawn up._

_Your hacking of GCHQ records should not be traceable provided you take the steps I suggested, but as an extra measure route your connection through my laptop. In the unlikely event we are sussed then they are quite used to Section D looking over their shoulder, so hopefully all it will involve will be a protestation through the usual channels and a demand for a further upgrade to the security of their system._

_Any information I get on M I'll forward to you immediately but I'll refer to him as Maser just in case H is lurking._

_Malcolm_

_Scene: Exterior shot of MI6 building. We see Adam striding along the pavement and running briskly up the steps and through the main doors, flashing his security pass as he is checked by uniformed officers. CCTV shots show him walking along a corridor and disappearing discreetly through a solid door._

"Hello Josie"

"Hello Adam. Long time no see. What brings you across the river?"

"You of course"

Adam smiled flirtatiously and brought out a small bunch of pink camellias and white rosebuds, which he had hidden behind his back. The middle-aged woman of smart but mousy appearance took them with a smile and a look of pleased amusement on her face.

"I've told you before Adam, flattery will get you everywhere, you don't need flowers as well."

"Will it get me into recent surveillance records Josie?"

"Why, what are you after?"

The woman looked at him with a quizzing expression

"Well apart from a night of unbridled passion, I'd settle for recent activities of a mutual acquaintance, a certain Mr Oliver Mace."

"Oh God, the devil incarnate; or perhaps just the undead. Bring out the garlic. Why do you want to go disturbing the grave of his association with the Service, Adam? Leave him buried in unhallowed ground where he belongs."

"Unfortunately our job involves going down amongst the damned and Mace is possibly involved with a cell that presents a real and imminent threat, so I need to locate his whereabouts and quickly."

"Give me ten minutes, I'll see what I can dig up if you excuse the extended metaphor."

Adam perched himself on the edge of the desk whilst its occupant disappeared behind a set of swing doors. He had spent five years dashing in and out of this office – a shadow passed over his face at the memory – he recalled that for most of that time Fiona had had an office only a few doors down, which had partly accounted for the frequency of his visits to this part of the building. All gone, all finished; any memories that were recollected too painful, too raw, to resurrect. Adam shut his mind firmly to the images that were crowding into his consciousness and clicked open Josie's computer. It would do no harm to update himself on who was doing what and where in 6. The phrase 'knowledge is power' was never truer than in their profession.

Eight minutes later Josie returned with a triumphant half smile on her face.

"Our friend is not an easy individual to pin down but the good thing about the dog eat dog environment of spooks is that some bones are usually left as evidence. After Mace was dismissed , or should I say, given his just desserts – by the way, if you want to see Harry Pearce glassing him in his club the footage is excellent quality and very gratifying for the sang-froid – anyway, he took an extended vacation in Barbados and then returned to his country house near Lewes. To all intents and purposes he has been there ever since, apart from being involved with some shady deals with some of the Board members at Lloyds about six months ago and also doing some consultancy work for one of the larger Saudi Banks. Unofficially however, he has been stalking some of the weaker members of the political herd, no doubt seeking to find leverage to manoeuvre his way back into a position of power. It would be nice to think we had seen the last of his vulpine features, but somehow I doubt it."

"Thanks Josie, you've been a great help. I don't suppose you know where he is at this precise moment in time?"

"Josie tapped into her computer and raised her eyebrows

"You've been looking in teacher's desk again naughty boy"

Adam grinned broadly at her whilst she tapped in a few more entries.

"Ah yes, here we are. Large as life and half as pretty."

Adam looked over her shoulder and saw Mace reclining in a high-backed leather chair enjoying a thick Cuban cigar and blowing smoke over a weasel looking man with bad skin of about 35.

"The bloody nerve of the man. He's set up shop in his club as if nothing had ever happened and he's back with that other spineless little turd Jason Belling. Thanks Josie."

"Don't leave it so long again Adam." She urged as he gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek.

As Adam hurried down the steps of the MI6 building, he flipped open his mobile and hit speed dial:

"Hello Harry, do you want the good news or the bad news? In our line of work there is always bad news, you know that. Ok good news. I've located Mace – he's at his club at the moment. Yes I know, the transparency of his movements is worrying, he obviously feels very protected by someone. The bad news, oh yes, possibly connected to his sense of well-being; he's teamed up with that Downing Street low-life Jason Belling again. Well if Mace would sell his grandmother to stay ahead of the game then Belling would throw in his entire family and any babes-in-arms he could find for good measure. So the question obviously is, what is he plotting with Belling and how if at all does it link up with Sword of St Michael? Right yes, I'll tail him and see what he's up to, yes, ok every hour. No, don't be stupid Harry, I don't intend for him to spot me. I'll see you later."

Adam jumped into the black Lexus parked along the embankment and drove off along the river in the direction of Westminster.

_Scene: The National Gallery. Harry is standing in a small room in which are hanging a handful of paintings; all with calm, impassive faces staring out across the centuries at the observer. He is focused on one particular painting, about four foot in height. A stocky figure in breast plate is shown standing triumphantly on top of the body of a large serpent coiled under his feet. In one hand he holds the dripping head of the decapitated snake and in the other a long, curved sword coated in the serpent's blood. The broad face of the angel, framed in a halo_ _of frizzy blond curls, stares out expressionless at the viewer_. _His features are sensual: heavy-lidded eyes, broad nose, full lips; his expression is inscrutable. _

Harry smiled ruefully; Ruth might have been accurate in her comparison of his younger self with a Piero angel, but unlike him, the angel would never show the ravages of time!

"Hello Harry, a strange place to meet, have you been bitten by the art bug after all these years? I thought literature was more your cup of tea?"

Harry turned slightly to acknowledge his companion.

"Ah Gordon, I thought you might like to see an image of the original Sword of St Michael."

The older, heavier set man with iron-grey hair plastered unattractively across his balding pate, frowned in annoyance at Harry.

"I don't have time to play games."

"No, well neither do I Gordon, so shall we get down to it. We have reason to believe that you have been wooed by an unsavoury individual by the name of Seamus Coyle, whose group, the Sword of St Michael, is central to a conspiracy to assassinate members of the royal family. I don't think that high treason is an acceptable activity, even for ex-cabinet members."

"I have never heard of him or this preposterous sounding group. Don't be ridiculous."

"Well that's interesting Gordon, because we have telephone records of you having a very intimate and I may say implicating conversation with our Mr Coyle. The words 'assassination', 'Iran' and 'organise a change of policy' are all very clear. The wonders of modern technology I'm afraid Gordon, there's no such thing as a private conversation anymore."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well actually it's more what you are going to do. You will contact Coyle and explain that you are not happy about how you could be implicated and you wish to meet him in person to discuss further what safeguards have been put in place or the deal is off."

"I can't do that Harry. These people won't tolerate blackmail, they are dangerous."

"Yes Gordon, well so am I. If you don't do this, details of your conversation will be sent to the PM and an email revealing your part in the conspiracy that you sent to MI5 today, will be forwarded to Sword of St Michael HQ in Washington. Let's see how your fellow conspirators take to treason within their own ranks."

"That would be like signing my death warrant."

"An appropriate fate for high treason I think. Contact him in the next hour. Make it convincing. The email is waiting to be sent. Goodbye Gordon."

Harry gave the image of Saint Michael one last lingering look, shook his head with a wry smile and disappeared into the next gallery. On his way out through the inevitable shop packed with inviting merchandise; he stopped and bought two postcards with the picture he had just been admiring. One he addressed to Ruth:

_Remembering our conversation about my 'angelic' former self. Tempus fugit I'm afraid Ruth. This angel doesn't want to waste any more of his allotted time. Come back to me._

This card Harry placed in a plain envelope and addressed to Alcestis Pearce. On second card he wrote the name: Oliver Mace with the address of Mace's club and the following message:

_Snakes who come in contact with the Sword of St Michael tend to end up headless. Be warned Oliver the next cut will definitely be the deepest._

On arriving back at Thames House Harry instructed his driver to take the second card to Mace's club and make sure he received it personally. Yes, it would warn Mace that they were watching him; but by the same token he might be shaken out of his normal caution to make contact with Coyle or the cell and one thing they were short of was time, they didn't have the luxury of being able to play the long game tracking Mace round his usual London haunts in the hope he might lead them somewhere. Harry came through the pod onto the Grid in his usual forceful manner and pounced on Malcolm, who felt he was going to need Valium if this operation went on for any length of time.

"Malcolm, any word from Ruth?"

"Er no Harry, but she is working on Asim Maser's background."

"Here's an envelope for her. Forward it on to her 'unknown' location as soon as possible."

Malcolm opened his mouth to protest that he had no idea where she was staying but then realised it would be an insult to their intelligence to keep up the façade.

"Oh yes, and start tracking Oliver Mace's movements and tap his phone. Adam has located him at his club. Trace him on CCTV and intercept any messages he sends or receives. Under no circumstances are you to lose him he's one of the best leads we have, do I make myself clear?"

"Absolutely" replied Malcolm meekly.

Harry moved swiftly into his office and pulled the door shut. To be honest, this is when he enjoyed his job the most – a crisis to be solved, the adrenalin pumping round his body, his mind firing on all cylinders and his team working like a well-oiled machine, focused and dynamic. Over the past 12 months there had been a succession of such crises, most of which had been resolved successfully and yet he had felt that there was an element missing; well more precisely, not an element but a person. The captivating, quiet focus who had rescued so many critical frantic moments on the Grid, had vanished, leaving an empty chair and a void in his heart. This crisis, however, was back to its former level of reward. She might be still infuriatingly stubborn and subversive of his authority, but she was nevertheless once more back in his life. Harry smiled to himself and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He picked up his phone and dialled.

"Hello Adam, I've rattled Mace's cage a little to see if it will lift him out of his current zone of comfort. So you will need to be extra vigilant, he will be on the lookout for you. Malcolm will trace his movements on CCTV, so you can hang back a little further and he'll also tap into Mace's phone. It would be nice to think he would lead us to a Sword of St Michael connection but at the very least we might find out what he's up to with Belling."

"Ah, Harry, I've just received a call from del Torro, apparently Coyle has just booked onto a flight to London . It's very strange why would he come over here just when the assassination attempt is about to take place, you would think he would try to keep as much distance as possible?"

"Ah yes, well I've had a little tete-a-tete with one of their more senior Westminster supporters and suggested it was in his personal as well as the national interest that he co-operated and tried to lure Coyle over here. He was obviously impressed by my persuasive argument. He's certainly lost no time in putting the wind up Coyle. Good at last we're getting somewhere. Get Zaf to wait at Heathrow for the flight when it's due to land and make sure he knows to stay out of sight – we've got to keep this under our own radar never mind Coyle's goons. Jo can manage Roscoe's itinerary by herself. I'm sure it will continue to be an education. Meanwhile keep me informed about Mace's movements."

Just as Harry put the phone down, Ros knocked at the door and came in.

"I think you need to see this Harry."

She lead him out to her station and brought up an image on the screen of a middle-aged gingery man with a bland face but piercing blue eyes.

"This is Jimmy Doyle. He's the leader of a extremist Irish-Catholic group based in the UK. They were previously linked to the IRA bombing campaign on the mainland back in the eighties, although nothing was ever proved. They campaigned on behalf of the Birmingham four and still have close connections with Sinn Fein. These days they have a veneer of respectability. They act as a pressure group on the fringes of Westminster, promoting EU subsidies for Irish farmers and also demanding greater representation for the Catholic minority in the Northern Ireland Assembly. All very above board, but I've been tracing back Jimmy Doyle's movements in the past six months and he has made an unusual number of trips to the States and specifically to Washington. I contacted Adam's friend del Torro and he's just emailed me these images from surveillance footage of the Sword of St Michael HQ from a month ago."

Ros clicked on the mouse and up came a flickering image of the front of a glass office building that Harry immediately recognised. People were walking past and there was movement in and out of the front entrance. Ros froze the motion and zoomed in on one particular face as a figure emerged from the doors, it was clearly Jimmy Doyle.

"Well done Ros, do we know Doyle's present whereabouts?"

"Well I asked Malcolm to put Ruth onto it and she's just got back with the information that his group have recently relocated to a set of offices just off Pall Mall."

"A very convenient location for a spot of regicide." Said Harry grimly.

"Well yes, quite possibly. Anyway, I was going to pay them a visit and have a nose around, if that's ok?"

"Fine, yes, but wear a tracker and get Zaf to back you up. He won't need to be at Heathrow until later this afternoon."

Ros nodded agreement and moved across to Malcolm.

"I need ID Malcolm, something official and officious that will arouse annoyance but not suspicion – social security checking on illicit employment or perhaps the Inland Revenue paying a surprise visit, always guaranteed to raise a smile."

Malcolm opened his box of tricks marked 'Ros Myers'.

"Ah yes, this will do – Maureen Parker, DHSS, deputy head of the department dealing with fraudulent claims for employment benefit in the Inner London Area. Here is your ID, credit cards, several letters ready for posting notifying culprits of impending prosecution and a selection of receipts for lunches etc purchased in central London over the past two weeks. Oh yes and here's your folder listing claimants who you suspect of being employed at the location you are visiting. They all have backup to their information and any queries will come through to me."

"Thanks Malcolm, thorough as ever."

Ros pocketed the paperwork and the credit cards and disappeared through the pod doors.

Scene: Zaf and Jo sitting in Zaf's sports car outside a Chinese resturant. Through the glass window we can see Roscoe sitting on his own with a large array of dishes on the table in front of him.

"Doesn't this man ever do any work?" grumbled Jo.

"Well he needs to keep his strength up for his Soho activities." Retorted Zaf with a smirk

"If I've got to be cooped up with you in this car for the next few hours can you please cut out the schoolboy humour, it's wearing thin."

Zaf looked down at his bleeping phone

"well you don't have to put up with me any longer. I've just had a text from Ros, I've got to provide back-up for her and then go on to Heathrow. You're on your own from now on Ms Portman."

"Oh great and how am I meant to follow Roscoe when he swans off to his next port of call?"

"Don't worry. Malcolm has arranged for one of the pool cars to park up down the road. It will be here in about five minutes."

"Oh good, I like driving the Lexus. Now they really are a cool car."

"Well no, Roscoe would recognise our standard pool car so yours is a six year old Ford Fiesta. But it's in baby blue so it is a girly colour for you."

Jo half scowled and half smiled at him

"You think I'm just an airhead bimbo don't you?"

"Of course not. I respect your intelligence and capabilities as a spook, it's just your tendency to demand surveillance equipment in powder pink that tarnishes the image somewhat."

Zaf ducked from Jo's swiping hand and leaning across opened the door for her.

"I'll catch you later. Watch yourself with Roscoe. He's not as stupid as he looks. He didn't climb to the top of the CIA's extremely greasy pole purely on his entertainment value."

_Scene: Overall view of the Houses of Parliament; in front of which at a distance is a bench on which are sat two figures. One tall, lean, with expensive, well-cut clothes and a closed, vicious expression. The other huddled with a disgruntled look on his face and a coat which has patently failed to keep out the wind and the drizzle which is falling from the ever-darkening London sky._

"Did we have to meet out here?"

"Would you rather have our conversation monitored by Harry Pearce and his gremlins?"

"Bloody spooks, you're all the same, all bloody paranoid. Well surely we could have met somewhere under cover, it's bloody freezing out here. Anyway what do you want to see me about? I thought everything was arranged?"

"Well there's been a complication. Harry Pearce has saddled up his white charger and has sent me a challenge."

Mace handed Belling the postcard.

Belling smirked as he read it.

"I wouldn't have put Harry Pearce down as an art lover."

"No, not the right sort of school to have been properly initiated; rather like you, he's minor league. But if there's one thing Harry likes it's a good fight. I really don't think I can be your messenger boy in this matter any longer. I agreed to help you on the basis of getting back my position not to be challenged to pistols at dawn by the Head of Section D."

"A failure of nerve? Since when have you been bothered by Harry Pearce?"

"That's not the point. I have a number of other avenues I can pursue to get what I want that are less troublesome. At the time you seemed the easiest, as you were the most desperate; but things have changed, besides which assassination and anarchy are really not my cup of tea. Try leaning on some of your fellow grammar school chums – they are less scrupulous and keener on republican utopias."

"It's too late for that Oliver, everything is scheduled for tomorrow morning and if I go down I'll make sure I take you with me."

"Don't threaten me you pathetic little man" said Mace standing up and glowering with contempt at the agitated Belling

"I'm going to sort out Pearce and his cohorts. I have no more interest in you and your plottings in corridors. In future chose your political friends with more discernment than you chose your tailor. Really – Irish has-beens and rogue CIA perverts, how low can you get – even for a labour spin merchant?

Oliver Mace smirked distastefully at Belling and walked off.

"Malcolm" whispered Adam as he crouched in a dense patch of shrubbery in a nearby Memorial Garden, holding out what looked like a spongy black stick. "Did you get all that?"

"Yes" replied Malcolm "very gratifying. This should put a smile on Harry's face."

As Adam disengaged himself from the bush and prepared to continue his tail; Mace strolled along the riverside away from Parliament, apparently impervious to the weather. His phone rang and he put it to his ear:

"Hello, yes. Are you sure? Well, well, well, how interesting and they say that there is no such thing as life after death. I wondered how Harry Pearce had picked up on Sword of St Michael when it was rather beyond his usual sphere of domestic influence. It also accounts for why he was so keen to fly out there. How touching. I underestimated that woman once I won't make the same mistake again. Thanks for the information. No don't worry, I'll deal with it this end. What? You're coming over here? Is that wise at this moment in time? No I'm not telling you what to do only just be aware that my influence does not extend to shielding you from British security forces so be it on your own head Seamus. No I'll make a few discreet enquiries with some contacts I still have at SB and I'll locate her and deal with it – kill two birds with one stone. Yes I thought you might appreciate the bon mot. Goodbye."

_Scene: Harry's Office._

Harry was on the phone checking on Juliet's progress with the Westminster connections when Malcolm burst into his room with terror in his eyes. Harry cut off Juliet mid-sentence:

"I'll call you back Juliet, something has just come up." He put the phone down.

"I, I, I, Oh God .."

"Malcolm, what is it? Calm down."

The expression on Malcolm's face filled Harry with dread. Malcolm might be a panicker, but he was not usually inarticulate. It had to be Ruth and it would not be good.

"I've just picked up this conversation on Mace's phone Harry, listen"

Malcolm tapped into Harry's computer and immediately Mace's exchanges with Seamus Coyle were played back. Harry leapt to his feet, anger and fear blazing in his eyes.

"Where is she Malcolm?"

"The Fitzroy Hotel, Bloomsbury, Room 12."

"Telephone her now and get her out. I'll warn Adam to close in on Mace."

Malcolm picked up the phone. The dialling tone rang in the silence between the two men who looked at each other. There was no answer.

"Oh God, not again. Adam, Adam can your hear me? Mace knows about Ruth and he's going after her. Don't lose sight of him. What do you mean he's disappeared? Find him now. He will be heading for the Fitzroy Hotel, Bloomsbury, room 12. I'll meet you there. I don't care if it's a bloody trap Adam. God knows what he'll do to her after she framed him. If he wants a fight with me then he's bloody got one!!"

_Scene: Room No 12. Fitzroy Hotel. Bloomsbury. Mace is standing over Ruth twisting her arm behind her back and pushing her towards the door. She has tape across her mouth and Mace's other hand grips her by her hair._

Mace pushed Ruth against the wall as he negotiated to open the door. Momentarily he put his face very close to hers and whispered menacingly in her ear

"If you think those bruises were painful they were just inflicted by amateurs. I know you will be carrying a tracking device and I want it."

Ruth reached into the lapel of her jacket and handed him a small, round object.

"I'm glad you decided to co-operate, perhaps your experience of American hospitality had made you see sense?"

Mace smirked and twisted her arm a little harder. Ruth cried out with the pain.

"Don't worry Miss Evershed, you're safe for now. It's always best to set a trap with live bait."

With this last taunt Mace man-handled Ruth through the door, down the back staircase and into a waiting car; just as Adam was bounding up the main stairs two at a time and reached her room. He took in the upturned furniture and the empty space and dialled on his phone:

"It's too late Harry. He's got her. I'm sorry."

* * *

I did include a close up of the Piero della Francesca painting of St Michael that is in the National Gallery, but it won't let me bring it across with my file. So if you want to see what resemblance I keep wittering on about between PF/HP & Piero's angels, you'll have to look it up for yourself on Google. 


	16. Chapter 16

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 16**_

Harry's broad hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the tips of his knuckles turned bloodless white. His foot was flat to the floor as he hurled the black Lexus from side to side, dodging through the slow moving traffic, flashing his lights and slamming his palm repeatedly on the horn. It was not an advisable way to shadow a suspect, but then Harry didn't need to shadow Mace. He had a good idea where he was heading and he intended to reach the house as soon after Mace as he could possibly manage.

"Telephone" he bellowed at the voice-activated control.

"Which number?" replied a prim, slow voice.

"Adam Carter."

"One moment please you are being connected."

The dialling tone sounded twice before Adam picked up the phone.

"Harry, where the hell are you? I'm waiting here like a lemon at the hotel!"

"What have you found there?"

"Nothing much. A laptop, a few clothes, a handbag with a mobile phone, a pager and a postcard with a cryptic message from you. It looks as though he's just taken Ruth. Oh wait a minute. Oh damn!"

"What is it Adam?"

"There's a broken tracker on the floor; although of course Mace would know she was wearing one."

"Right Adam, you go back to Thames House and take over control of the operation. Monitor Ros and Zaf, who have gone over to Pall Mall to investigate Doyle's premises and also Jo who is still following Roscoe. Wait a minute, I'll put you on hold. I've got an incoming call from Malcolm."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Malcolm?"

"We've had a breakthrough with the CCTV footage from Datchet. We have images of Roscoe leaving the airport with Asim Maser. They were in a silver CIA Merc. So he obviously wasn't concerned to cover his tracks. We traced them to the Earl's Court area. They went into a café and were met by another man who took Asim with him. At that point we lose images of them and Roscoe just returned into central London. The man who left Asim has been positively identified as Jimmy Doyle."

"So, Ros was right. Doyle is central to the conspiracy. Ok, fine. Thanks Malcolm, good work. Keep in touch, I'll be back later."

Harry didn't tell Malcolm about Ruth's kidnapping. Malcolm tended to freeze when a crisis occurred and Harry wanted him as alert as possible.

"Adam, are you still there? A change of plan."

Harry honked his horn and swerved around a large yellow lorry trundling down the A23

"Bloody East European idiot!" he shouted.

"Jimmy Doyle is Maser's minder, warn Ros and get over to Pall Mall to give her and Zaf additional backup and then go on to Thames House."

"No Harry, I'm coming with you. You can't go after Mace alone. Ros and Zaf are quite capable of bluffing their way through. I just need to forewarn Ros to be extra vigilant."

"I'll be fine Adam. This is personal and I need to deal with it personally. We're in the middle of a serious national crisis, I need someone competent with steady nerves to hold the ship on course and that's you. If I need help I'll call in Special Forces. Bye Adam."

Harry knew full well that it was suicidal to go into such a situation without support; but he also equally knew that he shouldn't be careering down the M23 at that moment at all. The rescue of a kidnapped private citizen should not be the personal crusade of the Head of a major operation charged with protecting the royal family. He had five hours before Cobra was due to meet at the Cabinet Office. By then he needed to have Ruth safe, the cell dismantled and the conspiracy quashed. A tall order even for the formidable combined talents of Section D.

Meanwhile as Harry was attempting to break the sound barrier through the leafy hamlets of Surrey, Adam was re-establishing priorities – as he saw them. He called in a favour with a friend at Scotland Yard and five minutes after putting the phone down on Harry, he was airborne in a police helicopter heading down towards the coast.

_Scene: The interior of Mace's living room. An elegant and refined space, furnished with antiques with an Aubusson carpet on the floor and velvet brocade curtains festooned around the floor to ceiling French windows of the Georgian residence._

Mace was sitting in a high backed chair smoking a cigar when Harry burst in.

"How kind of you to drop in Harry. Ruth's not here before you do your Sydney Carton impression and once more offer yourself to the guillotine to save her."

"What have you done with her?"

"She's tied up and gagged in a place you will never find. If you do anything to me I'll leave her to starve very slowly to death, if hypothermia doesn't get to her first of course or the rats."

Harry resisted the temptation to grab Mace by the throat and sank down in a chair opposite to him.

"What do you want Oliver?"

"I want my job back and I want your resignation signed and on the DG's desk. Oh yes, and a little physical payback."

Here Mace rubbed his arm unconsciously.

"How do I know Ruth is still alive and that you will release her if she is?"

Mace switched on a screen that revealed a flickering image of Ruth hunched on the floor of a dark space. Next to her was a TV on which could be seen a broadcast of the BBC News 24. Ruth could just be made out in the gloom to be bound and gagged; her clothes appeared to be wet, she was shivering and her eyes were closed.

"Do you think I would be party to any scheme that would reinstate a bastard like you?"

"The Service needs ruthless bastards now more than ever in the present climate. Besides which, Harry, we are more alike than you care to admit."

"I don't think so Oliver."

"Oh yes we are Harry. I will stop at nothing to get what I want and you only hope you will stop – that's a pretty small difference."

"It's all the difference – I would not have allied myself with assassins and anarchists."

"Yes, that was a mistake, I admit; but sometimes one must run with the pack to gain the advantage."

"How is this going to end Oliver? I don't have time to sit here bandying words with you any longer."

"Your letter of resignation is on the desk over there, outlining your rogue undercover excursion in Washington and your part in covering up the escape of a wanted criminal, not to mention aiding and abetting her return. This will leave me in the clear over the Cotterdam conspiracy. You should get off with five to ten years and although Ruth will not be so lucky, hopefully you will both have a few years left together when you eventually both get out. At least she will be alive."

"Is there no price too high for your personal advancement Oliver?"

""No, not as long as someone else is paying it. Now sign."

Harry did not for one minute believe that Mace would keep his word or that he intended for either Ruth or himself to survive; but he had to play along in the hope he could discover Ruth's whereabouts. He got up and walked slowly over to the desk and signed the letter. Turning round he was confronted with Mace holding a pistol pointed at Harry's head. Mace indicated to Harry to walk out through the hallway and into the cobbled rear courtyard that lay beyond.

"You've gone soft Harry, allowing your heart to rule your head is never a wise move in our line of work. You're hands on your head please where I can see them."

"What will it be Oliver, suicide or an unfortunate accident?"

"Neither, you will disappear with Ruth; only this time the deaths will not be faked."

Mace levelled the gun again at Harry's head when two shots rang out and he collapsed screaming on the floor. Harry quickly possessed the pistol and held it pointed towards the body of Mace who was writhing in agony on the floor with blood flowing out from the back of his knee where he had been shot. Harry looked down at him coldly and squatting down so that he was close to Mace's head he said quietly:

"Tell me where she is Oliver or the kneecap is only a beginning. Perhaps you are right and there isn't much difference between us and even if I have any scruples left I'm sure Mr Carter" here Harry looked up at Adam who had come out through the open doorway of the stable where he had been standing a moment before "will help me dispel them."

"Go to hell Harry."

"Let me work on him."

"No, we don't have time, he has nothing to lose to keep holding out. We'll tie him up and get some of our boys to come down and pick him up, we have to make sure he has no contact with Special Branch or his chums at 6. Thanks for the backup Adam. I thought I gave you specific instructions to stay in London?"

"Sorry Harry, it was a very weak signal on your call, you kept breaking up and I didn't get the message."

"Yes that seems to be a common problem with my staff, I'll get Malcolm to upgrade our communications!"

Harry and Adam tied up the gangly figure of Mace, ignoring his moans and tossed him into the interior of the stable. They went back into the drawing room and studied the camera footage of Ruth.

"Is there any means of communicating with her Adam?"

"It doesn't look like it. Just the CCTV image."

"We've got to find her and quickly. Mace only had a short time gap, fifteen minutes at most, to hide her before I arrived. She's got to be somewhere nearby."

"He could have stopped enroute."

"Possible, but unlikely. He wouldn't have risked being spotted in broad daylight. It's much more likely she is somewhere in the vicinity of the house. Obviously away from natural daylight, somewhere dark and wet and cold."

"Cellars" ventured Adam, "drains, underground stores?"

"I'm not sure, we'll have to check out the possibilities. Certainly somewhere with relatively easy access. Oliver doesn't like to get his clothes dirty; he wouldn't have had the time or inclination to drag her too far into the countryside."

The two men started to search the outbuildings to the house; both aware that if Harry's hunch was wrong, then they would have the odds of finding Ruth heavily stacked against them.

"I swear Adam" said Harry between clenched teeth "if anything happens to Ruth I will really kill him this time."

"We will find her don't worry Harry" said Adam, with more confidence than he felt. As he ran from building to building of the extensive complex, Harry could not banish from his mind the image of Ruth bound, gagged and shivering nor the grainy images of hostages held captive in the past in underground holes by psychotic sadists. Some had survived, traumatised and physically weak but some had not been so fortunate and their bodies had eventually been recovered after having suffered horrific deaths alone, terrified and in pain. Harry tried to quell the rising panic that such images caused; he had to remain calm if he was going to make logical deductions as to where Ruth might be held. Likewise he had to suppress the urge to go and knock 7 kinds of shit out of Mace because as he had already counselled Adam, that would not solve anything.

After they had rooted around the outbuildings that housed amongst other things, Mace's extensive collection of TVR classic racing cars and checked the wine cellars of the house; Adam suggested that they try the adjacent farm that was just visible from the rear of the complex. As the two men hurried across the fields Harry inquired of Adam:

"What made you shoot Mace in the knee-cap?"

"Well it seemed topical given his involvement with the IRA and of course it toppled him quite effectively without being a fatal shot. Tempting as a bullet thorough the head undoubtedly was, we need to keep him alive to give evidence."

"Well sometimes a shot through the head is the cleanest solution. All you can do with a rabid dog is put it out of its misery."

Once they had reached the farmhouse, Adam and Harry split up and searched the outhouses and farm buildings. Nothing. They came together, a rising sense of trepidation gripping them both although neither voiced it to the other.

"It's got to be here somewhere, Harry. Let's talk this through.Mace arrives here in the car. He has formulated a plan on the way down; but he still has to put Ruth in the hidey hole and rig up the TV, (which must be a special set running on batteries) and a camera. That all takes time. Ruth MUST be somewhere nearby."

"The camera Adam, what would the camera work off? It was static, not just a hand-hold job. It must already have been in position, it would take more time than he had to sort that out as well."

Both men looked around them.

(_Imagine one of Spook's signature roaming camera shots that track right around the actors who pivot slowly on the spot. Think crisis meeting after Mace takes over Section D when Harry is shot or the scene in Paternoster Square with Ruth & Adam)._

"The grain stores, Harry. They sometimes have cameras installed inside to check the level and condition of the grain." They ran over to a series of huge silos that stood like steel sentinels beyond the barns. Adam picked up a shovel and started to hammer at the padlocks on the doors of each silo.

"We're going to need a torch, Harry. A big one." Harry looked around desperately and noticed a tractor parked in the adjacent barn. He ran over and hauled himself up into the seat and felt down the side of the steering wheel.. "Oh yes, typical. The keys were in the ignition, despite all the leaflets handed out by local plods urging awareness and security, old habits die hard. Harry willed his brain back four decades to when he used to help out on the local hop farm in Kent and after a false start, coaxed the Massey Fergerson into life.

Adam looked up as he forced the first door open, to see the tractor trundling towards him driven by Harry with a determined expression on his face:

"This has got to be one of the most surreal images" Adam thought to himself "Harry Pearce in his immaculate Savill Row tailoring behind the wheel of a tractor – now there's one for the office party wall!!"

The beam of the headlights sliced into the Sygian gloom of the interior of the empty silos. The first yielded no reward, but the second contained a small bundle on the floor just discernible at the further side of the silo.

"I think it's Ruth" yelled Adam above the noise of the tractor. Harry leapt down and hurried into the interior gloom of the silo. It was cold and dusty and smelt of fermented grain. He knelt down and embraced her trembling form in the dark.

"It's alright, you're safe, I'm safe; we're going to get you out of here."

He called to Adam "Yes it's Ruth Adam, but she's attached by some sort of chain to the floor. Find some cutters and a blanket; that bastard deliberately doused her in water and she's freezing."

Adam disappeared and sprinted across to the farmhouse. Minutes later he returned with a concerned looking farmer in overalls, carrying a pair of bolt cutters.

"This is terrible, how did she get in here, all the silos are padlocked. I don't know why the dogs didn't bark if someone was messing around in here?"

Adam had a good idea why – somewhere there would be the bodies of the farmer's dogs, but he didn't want to distract the man by enlightening him as to the fate of his animals.

Harry lifted Ruth up and carried her out into the daylight. This was becoming a habit – one particular embrace with Ruth that he didn't want to repeat again. Ruth was conscious but she was wet and cold to the touch and was shivering badly. The farmer suggested bringing her into the farmhouse to warm up where they could wait for an ambulance. Harry accepted the offer of shelter but said they would take her to hospital themselves as it would be quicker. He instructed Adam to fetch the car from Mace's house and in an aside reminded him to check if the MI5 heavies had arrived yet to pick up the parcel.

_Scene: Harry's car. Adam is driving and Harry is sitting in the back with Ruth cuddled up to him with a blanket around her._

"Adam, have you got the access code to Zaf's flat? Ok, good. I think we should leave Ruth there. It's safer than mine and I don't want Wes involved by going to yours."

Harry dropped his voice and leant his head down to Ruth's ear

"How are you felling? Better?"

"Oh yes" came the quavering reply from Ruth "a hot bath and I'll be fine. I knew he wasn't going to hurt me, at least initially. You were his main target. What's going to happen to him?"

"Not as much as he deserves" retorted Harry grimly. "For now we'll have to keep him under guard at a safehouse; we can't risk him reaching his contacts and being at liberty to warn Coyle and the cell."

Harry was conscious of the lack of privacy with the proximity of Adam in the front driving seat, but he still had to raise questions of a more personal nature with Ruth:

"Ruth, we've got very little time left to try and locate and close this cell down. I need to be 100 per cent focused. Will you please, PLEASE" - here Harry lifted her chin up and looked directly into her soft eyes that were ringed like kohl with black shadows of exhaustion – "do as I ask and stay out of harm's way."

Ruth smiled her assent "Well I don't have an option anyway, I don't think I could run off even if I tried. My legs are like jelly."

Harry smiled back at her and bringing his lips down kissed her gently. It was the first intimate contact between them since the rape, but other than her eyes darting to the front mirror to see if Adam was watching; Ruth did not flinch. She had had time since her capture by Mace to reflect on her priorities and she had promised herself that if she survived her ordeal, she was not going to put any more obstacles in the way of her and Harry. No more scheming behind his back, even with his best interests at heart and no more erecting barriers to keep him at a distance. Life was too brief and too fragile to allow what was good and true to be spoilt and suffocated by the ugliness of the world in which they lived and worked. A chilled but firm hand stroked his cheek and drew his face down for another and more lingering kiss.

This one was noticed by the sharp blue eyes that glanced in the rear view mirror. Adam smiled to himself. Whatever the outcome of this operation or the uncertainty surrounding Ruth's future, at least there was one oasis of serenity in the midst of the chaos. 'To love, honour and cherish': suddenly the significance and poignancy of those words came into his mind with a clarity of understanding he had never previously appreciated. These two were not just in lust but in love – they adored, respected and cherished each other to a degree that was rare to see. Perhaps because they were not in the first flush of youth, perhaps more likely because they were both old-fashioned in their sense of duty and propriety; rather than a contemporary relationship, they more closely resembled the great passions of C19th literature – thwarted lovers racked by desire and love but forced apart by a sense of obligation and familial and social ties: Jane Eyre & Rochester, Kathy & Heathcliff, Margaret & Thornton. Perhaps that was why everyone close to them were willing the relationship to work out. Not simply to make Harry more sweet-tempered in the workplace or because they were two good and kind people who deserved to be happy; but also because it was like the storyline of a great romantic novel. Everyone was desperately hoping for a happy ending as a wish-fulfilled projection from their own fragmented and complex lives. Fairytales and romance didn't have much hope for survival in the shifting sands of modern life, but Adam hoped that these two gentle souls stood a chance.

_Scene: Discreet white porticoed entrance to a neo-classical terraced house. Listed amongst the brass nameplates to the side of the main door is Doyle's organisation the C.I.U. (Campaign for Irish Unity)._

Ros straightened her coat and hitching her handbag further onto her shoulder, pressed the intercom button.

"Hello yes, DHSS. I'm with the department that investigates fraudulent unemployment claims. Can I come in please?"

There was a pause and then the door clicked open. Zaf, sitting in the surveillance van was not happy with the security of the locked door. It left Ros isolated inside with no easy exit.

"Be careful" he communicated through her ear-piece "these guys are professionals and will be on high alert for any infiltration. The slightest doubt get out immediately."

Ros was greeted by an efficient and slightly hostile receptionist.

"Can I see your ID please. We only have bona fide staff here, I don't know where you got information to the contrary."

"If you don't mind I'd like to be the judge of your employment status. The fact that we are making preliminary investigations does not mean per se that we have definite evidence or that someone has informed on you; only that we have reasonable grounds for suspicion. Now if you don't mind I would like to speak to the owner of this establishment."

"He's not here."

"Well, his second in command."

"He's not here either."

Ros's face assumed an exasperated expression:

"What are you running here, the Marie Celeste? Please inform whoever is in charge here of my presence. If you do not co-operate then I will assume you have something to hide and will put this investigation on a more formal footing and believe me you will not want that."

The girl scowled at Ros and disappeared. A couple of minutes later two men emerged out of an office door. One of them Ros recognised as Jimmy Doyle.

"Hello, my name is Jimmy Doyle. I am the Managing Director. What can I do for you?"

"How do you do Mr Doyle. I am so glad you were contactable despite your receptionist's lack of certainty as to your whereabouts. My name is Maureen Parker. I'm with the DHSS benefit fraud investigation department and we have reason to suspect that you may have employed one or more persons who are continuing to claim unemployment benefit. I am sure you are aware that such fraudulent activity is a criminal offence and both employee and employer found participating in such activities are liable to prosecution."

"Please Miss Parker, do come in." Doyle gave a terse smile and indicated to Ros to go through into his office. He followed her in through the door and sat behind his desk.

"Now what makes you think my organisation is involved in employing irregular workers?"

"We have received information that you are employing middle-eastern immigrants on your premises."

Doyle laughed shortly, but his eyes were cold and piercing.

"Tell me Miss Parker, do you see us swamped out by Kurdish refugees? My employees are all drawn from the Irish community."

"Well not according to our information Mr Doyle and you have to appreciate that we have to follow up on all information that we receive and the employment status of middle-eastern refugees awaiting decisions on their residential status are particularly difficult to trace and we at the DHSS are determined to cut down on fraudulent claims amongst this section of the community. People already consider too much is being given to the immigrant population without them being allowed to perpetuate fraud.."

"Yes, well" said Doyle with an exasperated tone "as I say I don't see what this has to do with me?"

Ros reached into her bag and brought out a typed sheet.

"A man of middle-eastern appearance has been seen entering these premises with bags and he did not appear to leave. Would you care to explain what such an individual was doing here at the offices of an Irish pressure group if not acting in an employed capacity?"

"Since when did we become a fascist state? I object strongly to being spied on by my neighbours and reported and I shall lodge a complaint to your superiors of your harassment. The man in question was a taxi driver helping me in with some luggage. I have no idea what his official employment status is, nor the name of his Grandmother's cat. I just picked up his cab at Euston. Now if you will excuse me I have work to do. Good day."

"I will file a report to my superiors Mr Doyle and they will decide if they want to pursue this matter any further. I admit the evidence is flimsy but please be aware that your name will be kept on file and any future investigations will be more extensive."

Ros proffered her hand to Doyle and picking up her bag exited from the office. She paused at the receptionist's desk.

"I'm sorry to trouble you but do you mind if I use your toilet, only I have to go on to a very unpleasant area and I don't fancy my chances of finding anywhere there which is not flea infested."

The girl indicated to her to go through to the door at the end of the corridor. Ros entered the toilet and lighteningly quickly brought out a very small drill hidden in a pocket umbrella and proceeded to silently drill a hole low down on the wall and insert a probe through the wall.

"Can you see anything" said Ros into her earpiece

"Yes fine" replied Zaf "an excellent view of Mr Doyle's backside. Get out now before you arouse suspicion."

Ros packed away the drill and flushing the toilet washed her hands noisily in the basin.

"Nice soap" she smiled at the receptionist as she walked out of the front door of the office and across to the silver Audi TT parked on the other side of the road.

As Doyle watched Ros drive off from the window the second man joined him in the room.

"Was she genuine or a plant?"

"well you can never be sure, but she had the petty-minded, racist, bureaucratic attitude that would suggest she was from the DHSS. Either way she didn't see or hear anything untoward. Where is Masir now?"

"He's still at the flat but the limey will be bringing him down after dark."

Back in the surveillance van Zaf punched the air. At last they were getting somewhere. He was beginning to worry that if he didn't come up with something positive, soon Harry would be sending him to join the ranks of the unemployed. He instructed his assistant in the van to stay in touch and he let himself out of the rear doors and walked across to his car. He looked at his watch – an hour before Coyle's plane landed, time to hightail it over to Heathrow and find himself a suitable spot.

_Scene: Heathrow Airport. Terminal 3. Arrivals lounge._

Zaf had just positioned himself out of the sightline of the Special Branch operatives he spotted lurking in the arrivals hall when his mobile rang.

"Hello Harry, oh thank God for that. How is she? And Mace? Oh is he, well I'll take care of him this end if you like – well I don't mind joining a queue as long as I'm at the head of it. Yes, I'm in position. Ok, fine, yes. Well what excuse shall I use? Fine and you want me to take him to the Ealing safe house and Adam will meet us there with the heavies? Ok. No problem."

Half an hour later Coyle emerged from the arrivals gate. The Special Branch men ignored him.

"Glad to see they're up to speed on the latest developments as usual" thought Zaf to himself as he quietly walked alongside Coyle.

"Mr Seamus Coyle?"

Coyle stiffened and his hand went to his inside pocket.

"Relax Mr Coyle. Gordon Cameron sent me to pick you up. He's been delayed in the Commons. The 1922 Committee is proving particularly taciturn at the moment."

"You're antiquated hide-bound traditions. When are you going to rid yourselves of it and move into the 21st century?"

"Oh we're working on it Mr Coyle, we're working on it. May I suggest that we remove ourselves from here before the Special Branch buffoons wake up and notice us."

Coyle nodded agreement and the two men walked quickly out of the airport and into the BMW that Zaf had parked up outside in a disabled bay.

"Oi – you're not disabled" hailed an irritated security guard

"No but you will be if you don't push off" threatened Zaf flashing a House of Commons pass at him.

"Bloody politicians who needs them?" grumbled the guard and walked off.

"Nice to see British democracy in action." Said Coyle and got into the back seat. Zaf jumped in the drivers seat and zoomed off before any other officials could question them.

_Scene: Interrogation Room in the basement of Thames House. The Grey steel walls are airless and menacing. A single bare table with 3 chairs is positioned in the centre of the room. Coyle sits in one of the chairs. His face is drawn and stony. He is alone. In the adjacent room Harry, Zaf and Adam are observing Coyle through the glass wall._

"We've got to break him and fast Harry, he is our best link with the cell. We're running out of options. Let me work on him and see what I can squeeze out of him."

"Well much as we would both like to indulge in some pay back Adam, I don't know if leaning on Coyle is our best option. He may well be able to hold out longer than we can afford and in the meantime we'll have the Canadians all over us, not to mention del Torro's lot who expect his return to the States pronto as a quid pro quo for their co-operation."

"Come on Harry, since when have you cared about treading on toes? The State opening of Parliament is fifteen hours away. We have a rogue assassination squad somewhere in London. Even if we apprehend Masir at Pall Mall, we don't know if they haven't got a second stooge sowed away somewhere else lined up as a reserve. We cannot afford to do nothing. Ros is staking out Doyle's place and Jo is still shadowing Roscoe but we could be standing here tomorrow morning and still have no lead and don't forget Cobra."

"I'd like to" groaned Harry, rubbing his right hand up and down the lower half of his face and glancing at his watch.

"Alright, we've got two hours till Cobra, let's see what we can do with Coyle; but this will have to be imaginative. I can't see him cracking easily."

"Our best bet is to make it clear to him that there are no depths to which we are not prepared to sink. As long as he thinks that we will play by Marquis of Queensbury rules, then he won't be worried. We've got to upset his equilibrium and fast."

"In that case I think some Irish Republican specialities will be appropriate. I'll fetch the equipment."

"No deniability this time Harry?" asked Adam as Zaf raised his eyebrows in surprise at the prospect of his boss torturing a suspect in full view of staff and cameras.

"Oh no, this is both national emergency and personal; there is no time to turn a blind eye. You start off and soften him up Adam, I'll be back shortly.."

Adam made a quick call on his mobile and then walked quietly into the Interrogation Room, smiling at Coyle.

"How nice to meet you again, happily under more fortuitous circumstances, at least for me. The last time I saw you, you left us to be tortured by your muscle men and on your orders they started by beating up and raping our colleague. I think the least I can do is to equal your hospitality and return it with interest."

Coyle just stared back with a defiant and aloof expression. The door opened and Zaf brought in two huge men in casual clothes.

"Ah gentlemen. I'd like you to meet Mr Coyle. Mr Coyle likes the same as Mr Roscoe only a little rougher. Don't worry about the screaming. The louder he is, the more enjoyment he's getting out of it."

Adam smiled again at Coyle as the Canadian was flung over the desk, his clothes ripped off him and his legs tied to the table.

"You can't do this" panicked Coyle as Adam went out through the open door.

"Oh I can and I will and this is just the beginning. My boss is very upset by what you did to our colleague. So upset that he wants to acquaint you with what some of your former Belfast associates did to him back in the late 70's."

Adam shut the door behind him. Zaf was staring through the screen as the two henchmen carried out Adam's threats.

"God Adam, we can't get away with authorising gang rape of a suspect."

Adam pulled down the blind.

"What rape? I don't see any rape taking place and when we've finished with Coyle the Americans will be sending him somewhere where this experience will seem like tea and strawberries at Wimbledon. Anyway you need to get off and support Ros. Harry and I will deal with Coyle."

"Yes that's what I'm afraid of" thought Zaf. Both men had a sense of morality but both also had a ruthless streak and a capacity to be mavericks and also of course in this instance both had personal scores to settle.

"He's not going to end up at the bottom of the Thames is he?"

"Tempting but no. We want this little canary to keep singing so he can implicate all his little chums both sides of the Atlantic. As they say dead men tell no tales and this one is about to start a cover to cover narration."

After about ten minutes, Adam put his head round the door of the Interrogation Room.

"Thank you gentlemen. That's probably enough for now. We wouldn't want him to get over excited so early in the proceedings, although it's always good to see people enjoy their work."

The two men left their task with reluctance. Coyle's high-pitched screams subsided into a choking whimper. Adam walked up to the naked, bound figure, sprawled across the table and crouched down so that his face was level with Coyle's.

"Enjoy a bit of rumpy pumpy do you? Good. What the Americans have planned for you will be right up your street."

Coyle spat back at him through clenched teeth "Go to hell you bastard!"

"On the contrary Seamus it will be you who will be going to hell, or wish you were already there by the time we're finished with you. There's just you and us. No cameras, they're turned off and no witnesses. You slipped into the UK unobserved and vanished and when we've finished with you we can dispose of you in any way we see fit. If you co-operate fully and tell us where the cell is based and what their agenda is then you will live to rant another day and be kept on this side of the water. On the other hand you can't spearhead too many crusades against Iran 6 feet under."

"Since when have MI5 become assassins?"

"Needs must. We live in an uncertain world made even more precarious by the likes of you. Post 9/11, we've all had to recognise the need to fight fire with fire, no matter how uncomfortable it might be."

At that point the door opened and Harry appeared carrying a box, electrodes and a bucket of water.

"Ah, the patient is stripped and ready. How thoughtful of you Adam. It's going to take me a while to get these voltages to the correct level, it's been a while since I was so closely involved in persuasion tactics."

Coyle took one look at the expression on Harry's face as he looked down at Coyle with narrowed eyes and he panicked. Here was a man who would have no qualms to do what had to be done to break his man.

"All right, all right, I'll tell you what I know."

"Oh what a shame, I was just beginning to get into the swing of this."

_Scene: Blue Fiesta car parked outside a bar in a narrow street in Fulham. Jo is leaning back with her eyes closed. She has been following Roscoe for 24 hours without a break and she is bored and depressed. She does not feel she is contributing to the operation and she is sickened by the antics of this dreadful man._

Suddenly there was a knock on the window. Jo's eyes opened and she found herself staring at the face of Roscoe. She opened the window.

"Well hello pretty little thing. Either you've got a big crush or Harry Pearce is employing schoolgirls to do a man's job for him these days." Roscoe peered at her through the thick lens of his glasses, reached into his jacket, brought out a gun with a silencer and shot Jo twice through the head and the heart at point blank range. Her body slumped forward onto the steering wheel and the horn started to blare. A man came across to see what the noise was about and recoiled from the appearance of the pretty woman, obviously dead, with blood trickling down her face and over her open sightless eyes. He glanced around him wildly but there was no one else on that miserable, deserted little street. Roscoe was driving away in a silver Merc with a determined and ruthless expression on his face. He dialled on his phone.

"Yes I've shaken my tail. I'll see you at the rendez vous in half an hour, don't be late."

_Scene: The Grid. Harry has just returned to his office and is briefing Juliet about the information they had obtained from Coyle. Fortunately Juliet was the type who was interested in results and was not bothered to enquire how the information had been extracted as long as things were going well._

Harry had just poured himself a glass of whisky and settled in his chair when the phone rang. Malcolm glanced through the glass wall of Harry's office as he was waiting for an opportune moment to present an update on his research. Suddenly he saw Harry slump forward and cover his face with his hands. The last time he had seen Harry so distraught had been when news of Ruth's death had come through and before that news of Colin's hanging –

"Oh God, not again. Not one of them. He just couldn't take anymore heartbreak."


	17. Chapter 17

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 17**_

Harry gestured to Adam, Zaf and Malcolm to sit down. His face was drawn and agonised. The pressure of the last few days culminating in the latest news he had just received, was taking its toll even on the usually stoical Harry.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news. I've just received confirmation that Jo has been found dead, shot through the head and the heart at point blank range."

Each man reacted differently to the news. Malcolm, already expecting such sad tidings after he had observed Harry's response to the phone call, was sorrowful and reflective. Adam, already aware of the shooting, bottled up his emotions and only revealed his feelings in the twitching muscle in his face and the tense set of his jaw. Zaf was distraught and angry:

"Who did this? Why Jo? What's she ever done to anyone? Oh God, I don't believe this!"

Zaf sprang to his feet.

"I know, I know; it's very sad news Zaf, but we have to remain focused on the operation which is still at crisis point."

"Fuck the operation Harry and fuck you." Zaf stood with his fists clenched and tears filling his eyes "You sent her to her death. She was alone and defenceless. I should have been there instead of sitting in a bloody ops van."

Harry chose to ignore Zaf's outburst and personal attack and continued:

"It's a shock for us all, but we have the lives of others to protect." Harry's voice was soft and low and caring. He knew that Zaf's affections for Jo extended beyond merely camaraderie and he knew also how he had felt about Ruth only hours before. Imagine if he had found her with a bullet in her brain, would he have been able to control his feelings? Harry however, knew the answer to his rhetorical question. His long experience and contained personality meant that he could always summon enough self-control to carry on. There was, of course, the added guilt that Jo was female. No matter how much Harry acknowledged and valued his female officers, he did not consider them equally. He was in many ways a man of old-fashioned values and he had a natural tendency to see himself as a protector of the weaker sex. He was not a chauvinist, he appreciated the intelligence and insight of male and female staff equally; but when it came to being in the line of fire, Harry always believed that women should be sheltered. If pressed, he would have admitted that he was of the opinion that greater participation of women in active service in the armed forces was a mistake. Now he felt not only horror at the loss of such a young life and a valued agent, but also guilt that he had failed to protect a vulnerable, inexperienced girl. He had given her what he considered the safest assignment, but it had proved to be lethal.

These thoughts however he kept to himself as he reasserted his authority over the team:

"We have to put Jo's death out of our minds and concentrate on the immediate task in hand. There will be a time to grieve I promise you once this threat has been neutralised. We have only 12 hours left until the assassination attempt is due to take place. On the basis of information we extracted from Coyle, I have put back the Cobra meeting until midnight; because I hope that we can close in on the cell and remove the threat in the next few hours. Adam can you bring us up to speed on our current state of awareness?"

Harry leaned back in his chair with a look of concentrated determination, but also dejection. Before Adam could begin to speak the door opened and a small, slight figure slipped into the room.

"Don't say anything Harry. Adam phoned one and told me about Jo. You need help. With Mace out of the way and the security forces focused on the present crisis, no one is going to notice my existence and even if they do there are more important things at stake than individual liberty."

The initial look of alarm and exasperation on Harry's face softened into appreciation as Ruth spoke and he just gestured with his hand for her to sit down next to him. Adam began his exposition:

"We know from the bug in Doyle's office and from Coyle, that the cell is going to move from a flat in North London where they are presently hiding, to the office in Pall Mall, at some stage this evening. According to Coyle, they are planning a two pronged attack tomorrow morning. The first is essentially a diversion. Just after the royal carriage has started up the Mall, a rocket attack is intended to be launched on Downing Street. The hope is to focus the security forces around Whitehall. The reasoning behind it is that the procession up the Mall will be allowed to continue and then there will be a sniper attack on the Queen and other members of the royal party who are in the procession. The attack will come from snipers on two sides of the Mall. Asim Maser will be with one of the snipers and there will be a third sniper assigned to aim to take out Maser with a standard Special Branch assault weapon to make it look like he has been killed in their response to the attack: dead stooges tell no tales. The terrorists' aim is to attack both Downing Street and the Royal Family and leave Asim Maser at the scene of the crime as the smoking gun. As with the JFK assassination, it will be obvious that there was more than one sniper involved, but the presence of Maser will lead to the assumption that this was a co-ordinated attack by Muslim extremists hitting at the very heart of the British Establishment and that the public will be whipped up into a state of panic and frenzy by the media and demand draconian measures against the Muslim community and a hardening of Foreign Policy in the Middle East."

"What about the involvement of the CIA and the political support at Westminster?" enquired Ruth. "Do we know how extensive it is and whether the Coyle-backed cell is the only one operational?"

"If there is a parallel agenda or a secondary plot engineered by Roscoe and his chums, then we are not aware of it." Replied Adam "Although Roscoe's ruthless elimination of Jo is worrying. He is obviously actively involved to some extent to be willing to go to such lengths to shake himself free from our surveillance. We need to find him again and take him out of the equation."

"I'll do that" interrupted Zaf with menace in his voice.

"Right" said Adam, who quickly calculated that whatever Zaf did to Roscoe was more than deserved and that they would face any flak from the Americans for not allowing them to deal with their traitor their own way, when the occasion arose."He must have been intending to contact or liase in person with a supporter of the plot and most likely someone senior. Start with Doyle, contact Ros and see if Doyle is still at the Pall Mall offices."

Zaf interrupted Adam "How do you know it's Doyle he is after? It could be any one of the conspiracy organisers or their supporters. Get it wrong and we have no hope of tracing him"

"Roscoe can't be intending to meet Mace because Mace has distanced himself from their plot and no one other than Gordon Cameron is aware that Coyle was even in the UK. The only other possibility is that he is in direct contact with members of the cell itself, but that's unlikely. Basing their organisation on an Al Qaeda structure, it's improbable that such contact would be established. No, it's got to be Doyle he's meeting. Meanwhile we've got to ensure that the cell is located and all members are apprehended. It's no good raidng the Pall Mall offices and only capturing two of them."

"Do we know how many there are in total?" enquired Malcolm, trying his hardest to remain part of the team and contributing. Harry rejoined the discussion and took over control of the meeting:

"Coyle thinks about six; although he claims he had not been responsible directly for setting up the cell or recruiting for it. Most of them are disillusioned ex IRA operatives recruited by Doyle and then of course there is also Asim Maser. Malcolm, you and Ruth see what you can dig up about the Irish element. It would be useful to know as much as possible about their areas of expertise before we launch an attack on the premises. We're going to have to play a watch and wait game for now. We don't want to frighten them off before they are all securely within the net. So all of you, keep your distance. Our best hope is that they do all come to the Pall Mall office. Adam you get over to Ros and move the ops van to a greater distance and await developments. I'll put the Special Forces on alert, but we don't want them anywhere near the building. If these are ex IRA, they will detect any abnormal movements and will disappear without a trace. I want this little next of Londonderry vipers securely under lock and key at Her Majesty's Pleasure; not out there regrouping on the streets of the Capital. I'm going over to update Juliet and then I will come over to Pall Mall. Thank you all for your commitment. It's going to be a long night."

Zaf and Adam sprang to their feet and hurried out of the door, consulting as they went. Adam put his arm briefly on the younger man's shoulders:

"Are you going to be ok?" Zaf turned, the characteristic smile absent from his face:

"Yes and no. Will I cope? Yes. Will I come to terms with it? I don't know."

"That's all any of us can say."

Malcolm walked back to his desk and Ruth reached out to Harry and squeezing his arm looked into his eyes:

"Are you ok Harry?" He smiled back wearily at her:

"I'm still standing Ruth, but I sometimes wonder if there is a point to all this pain and loss. I feel like Canute standing by the shore commanding the waves to go back."

"You do make a difference Harry. It's a job that must be done and no one could do it better than you."

Harry still felt a weight on his heart from the news of Jo's death and the tension of the situation; but his spirits were undoubtedly lifted by Ruth's quiet fortitude and fierce loyalty. Her strength was like an infusion of adrenalin and with renewed vigour he prepared to face the night.

"_Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,_

_Or close the wall up with our English dead!_

_In peace there's nothing so becomes a man_

_As modest stillness and humility:_

_But when the blast of war blows in our ears,_

_Then imitate the action of the tiger;_

_Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,_

_Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;_

_Then lend the eve a terrible aspect …….._

_I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips_

_Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:_

_Follow your spirit, and upon this charge_

_Cry "God for Harry! England and St George."_

_Scene: The ops van. Pall Mall_

_Ros is crouched inside with headphones on, staring intently at the screens which reveal grainly images of the interior and exterior of Doyle's office. (Adam is staking out the rear of the building)._

Outside the parked van, London life carried on, streaming past in a steady parade of noisy red buses, black horn-honking taxis and pale impatient faces staring out from the windows of grid-locked crawling traffic. Brave rather foolhardy cyclists and motorbike riders weaved their way between the static cars, whilst a rainbow of ages and cultures hurried uncaringly past each other on the pavements. All cocooned within their own separate worlds of strivings and frustrations, love and loss, wealth and destitution, health and disease. What they all shared, but were not aware of it, was a common ignorance of the time and location of the imminent danger they all faced as citizens of the great sprawling metropolis of London. Who by total chance would be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Whose life would be literally or figuratively blown apart in the next bomb detonated by evil deluded deranged individuals, who saw them not as humans with rights and dignity and aspirations, but as symbols of the destructive force of their political will.

"And yet" mused Ros to herself as she continued to stare unblinking at the screens "I know that there is an imminent threat and yet I will quite possibly be no more able to stop it than all that multitude of humanity flowing past me."

Ros's philosophising was interrupted by Zaf entering the van. She smiled gently at his drawn, pale face.

"How are you?"

"I wish people wouldn't keep asking me that. I'm not the one with a bullet in my head."

"Yes Zaf, but your are the one having to cope with it."

"If only I hadn't left her."

"You can't think that way. Firstly, you have a job to do, we all do. Jo know and accepted the risks that came with it and unfortunately she has paid the price we all know may be demanded. Secondly, if you had been there you don't know you would have been able to stop Roscoe; you might just have ended up being another casualty."

"But two of us there could have made the difference."

"Well that's something you will never know and will have to live with; but look at Fiona Carter and Danny Hunter. Both very experienced field officers, the best. They went into an operation aware of risks and procedures and yet Danny ended up with a bullet in the head and Fiona was almost torched. Shit happens Zaf in our line of work. You never know where or when. Work in the field is unpredictable and dangerous. We have to live with that and also live with the deaths of colleagues. It's no different to soldiers in war. We have an enemy to fight and we accept that we may have pay the ultimate price to do that."

Zaf sighed and tried to smile at her.

"Thanks Ros, it helps and it doesn't help, if you know what I mean. Now what's the state of play in Provo land?"

"Not a peep. Wait a minute."

Ros refocused her attention on the image from the hidden camera she had installed earlier that day. Doyle could be seen pacing up and down his office talking on his phone.

"Can you boost the volume on that please?" Ros addressed the young, serious man seated next to her at the controls. Doyle's distinct Belfast accent filled the van:

"Ok, well if you don't want to come here where do you want to meet? I'm expecting the rest of the gang here in the next hour, I haven't got long."

The voice at the other end of the line was clearly Roscoe's:

"Albert Memorial in 15."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! What is it about you spies and that bloody river? Do you need to return there to spawn or something? I'll freeze my arse off down there this time of night. No, somewhere more civilised. There's an Irish bar called 'Shamrocks and Shellayles" at the Leicester Square end of Long Acre. I'll see you there, don't be late, I've got an assassination to co-ordinate."

"Right, you stay in the van Zaf, I'll follow Doyle."

"No, I'll do that" he caught sight of the caution in Ros's eyes "don't worry, I'm not going to tear his entrails out, much as I want to, I'm not going to risk the operation and Doyle will recognise you too easily."

"Yes but Roscoe will recognise you and it's Roscoe we've got to shadow. I'll follow Doyle and then Roscoe. We know Doyle will come back here so I won't need to shadow him for long and the less we try and follow him the less he will be likely to cotton onto the fact that he's been rumbled. As soon as the cell members arrive with Asim Maser contact Harry and he'll put Special Forces on standby."

Zaf sighed: "All right you follow Roscoe and I'll stay here and baby sit Doyle when he returns."

Ros noted that Doyle was emerging from the door of his office and scrambled towards the rear of the van.

"See you later Zaf" she murmured as she stepped out of the door and disappeared.

_Scene: The Grid. Malcolm and Ruth are hunched over their respective stations._

Malcolm took a five minute break from his examination of records and leaning back in his chair addressed Ruth:

"What do they say about old soldiers? They don't die they just fade away? Well it's certainly applies to ex Provos. Since coming out of internment in the Maze, this lot seem to have put their lives on hold – either hanging round old haunts in the Ardoyne or existing on benefits in the UK."

"Malcolm this short-list of known associates of Doyle's, do we have any that have been linked specifically to the Pall Mall office?"

" Yes, I cross-referenced them with staff lists, surveillance reports, SB records and so on and I've come up with thrity possibles that are asterisked on the list I put on your desk."

"Ah, I thought that's what was indicated. Ok in that case I think I might have something."

At that moment the pods opened and Harry rushed through:

"Don't mind me, I've just called back in to grab my coat before I venture out to the limited charms of the ops van."

"Ah Harry, I'm glad you're here, I think we may have a possible ID on some of the cell members." Ruth smiled an invitation to him to join her at her station, which Harry eagerly took up, leaning over her shoulder and resting his arm along the back of her chair.

"Malcolm drew up a list of thirty known Doyle associates and cross-checked them with SB and our surveillance files, but it didn't narrow the list by many men as most have passed through the Pall Mall office at some stage in the last six months. However, I then added GCHQ phone tap records into the mix" Harry raised his eyebrows at that point, as usual Ruth had managed to source what were meant to be watertight avenues of security. "and it's thrown up twelve names of those who have been in contact with Doyle on his private mobile, of whom there are seven who have made regular calls over the past few months. Two of those are based in Belfast and there is no trace of them entering the UK at any point now or in the past. The remaining five are all London-based. Two have no specific form other than known sympathies to the Loyalist cause. The remaining three however have very interesting backgrounds and are very likely to be part of the cell."

Here Ruth clicked on the screen and brought up a front and profile shot of a haggard-looking middle-aged man with receding hair.

"This is Roddy Heaney. Born into a family with strong Sinn Fein sympathies. His father was thought to have been involved in the burning of the British Embassy in Dublin in 1972 and possibly the bombing of the Aldershot Barracks in the same year. He was definitely implicated in IRA atrocities after Bloody Sunday and was interned in the Maze for a total of six years."

"Oh yes" said Harry quietly, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips "I remember James Heaney, a vicious little bastard. His speciality was knee-capping and garrotting informants."

Ruth winced at the reminder of Harry's previous high risk operations in Northern Ireland.

"Anyway this experience appears to have radicalised his son who was also interned for two years in the Maze for association with the IRA. Subsequently he came over to the UK, which is kind of strange don't you think for someone who had just been imprisoned for Republican sympathies? Nothing tied him in specifically enough to bring him to court but his name kept cropping up in connection with a whole series of atrocities in the 1980's and 1990's on the UK mainland including the Dec 1993 Harrods Bomb; the October 1984 Brighton blast; the July 1990 Stock Exchange bomb and the April 1992 Baltic Exchange explosion – he seems to have taken a serious dislike to the wheelers and dealers of high finance. His name was also later linked to the 1996 bombs in London and Manchester and most recently the London car bomb of August 2001.

As far as intelligence records were able to establish Heaney appears to be a munitions and explosives expert. He's known to have contacts with illegal arms traders and to have procured weapons for IRA cells in the UK, although again there was never enough concrete evidence to press charges. Whatever rockets, mortars and high velocity weapons they are planning to use tomorrow, it's very likely that Heaney has procured them."

"Well done both of you, good work."

Ruth smiled the nervous half smile she always used when praised by Harry that acknowledged both her pride in her success and her embarrassment at being noticed by him.

"Ur, there's more. There is a husband and wife; younger than Heaney, in their early 30's – Marie and Patrick O'Connor. They have worked at Stormont for the IRU over the last five years, putting pressure on MPs to support Catholic issues. They are connected with the radical wing of Sinn Fein and are thought to be part of the illegal splinter group Ireland United which still advocates continued violence as a means of ending British rule. The O'Connors came over through Heathrow two weeks ago and were staying in the Regency Hotel in Bayswater, but they disappeared from there three days ago and SB have found no trace of their current whereabouts. Harry, Patrick O'Connor served for four years with the Irish Guards in the early 1990's. He left the Service with high recommendations, particularly for his skills as a marksman."

"Oh great, another home-trained traitor. Right that gives us a much clearer picture of who we might be dealing with. Deluded, highly trained Irish fanatics with no concern for human life – it will just be like old times."

Harry lowered his head until his lips were level with Ruth's ear "thanks" he said sotto voce, the vibration of his low voice rumbling in her ear and causing shivers to run down her spine "stay here with Malcolm until this is resolved."

Harry straightened up and picking up his cashmere coat, scarf and leather gloves, walked rapidly across the Grid and through the pods. Ruth turned back to her screen and sighed inwardly – how empty was this place without his charismatic and authoritative presence. She unconsciously chewed the inside of her lip with anxiety as she reflected on how much she wished she could have persuaded him to stay there safe with her in that glass and steel cocoon; cut off from the outside world of bullets, bombs and death.

_Scene: Irish Bar, Soho. Ros is observing Doyle and Roscoe from the shadows of an alcove at the opposite end of the pub._

Ros didn't like such scenarios, the confined proximity of the pub interior meant the chance of being noticed was far higher and she could not risk getting close enough to hear what the two men were discussing. They appeared to be arguing. Roscoe had his usual bombastic expression, trying to browbeat Doyle but obviously failing. Knowing Roscoe, he would have a hidden agenda which would be self-serving, but it was unlikely it would be revealed even if she could listen in on their conversation. Suddenly the two men were on the move, walking across the pub towards Ros. She leant back further into the shadow of the alcove, but fortunately Roscoe was too preoccupied with arguing with Doyle to notice her. They paused in front of the door.

"You'll do as your told. Without me you wouldn't be in the position you are to carry out this activity and without me you'll have no means of getting into the US. I want him dead, do you understand. He will be sniffing around Parliament Square tomorrow morning with his cohorts and I want him taken out at the same time as the other shit is going down. It just needs one extra sniper with half a brain and an ID. If necessary do it yourself. If you don't this whole operation will be jeopardised.

Doyle muttered something to Roscoe, who replied:

"No I can't risk being implicated, otherwise your whole exit strategy will be endangered."

Doyle protested but Roscoe dismissed his misgivings:

"Of course he'll be there, it's a question of vanity, there is always a show of high seniority for the State Opening and Harry Pearce won't want to let Special Branch take all the glory. He'll come down out of his ivory tower for this. It's payback time."

With that both men exited from the bar. Ros followed Roscoe at a safe distance. She flipped up her phone and whispered into it:

"Hello, Adam, listen; I'm following Roscoe, Doyle should be on his way back to you. I didn't catch most of what they were saying, but Roscoe has instructed Doyle to try and assassinate Harry tomorrow morning under cover of the attempt on the Royal Family. I don't know whether out of personal animosity or as part of another parallel agenda. Either way you've got to keep Harry out of reach of Doyle until the cell members are rounded up. We don't want anyone taking a pot shot at him, he's getting too portly to dodge bullets and I think we have lost more than enough of our own already."

_Scene: Doyles Office, Pall Mall._

The door of the van opened quietly and suddenly Zaf was aware of another body next to him. He looked up and pulled the earphones off his head:

"Hi Harry, any news?"

"Yes, we have a much clearer idea of who the Irish contingent of the cell might be." He handed a sheaf of photos and typed profiles to Zaf.

"These are the main possibles that Ruth has identified and knowing her, she's probably right, so keep your eyes peeled for all or any of them entering Doyle's office. We need in particular to pin down this man" Harry brought out the ID photo of Roddy Heaney. "He's got a long history of association with the IRA, has been linked to key bombings on the UK mainland in the 1980's and 1990's and is thought to be a munitions expert. He is the one who will have sourced and may well be carrying the hardware."

At that moment the door of the van opened again and Adam jumped in, shutting the doors quickly behind him forcing Harry to shift up cheek by jowl with Zaf and the operator.

"Er Adam, this is getting very cosy, shouldn't you be covering round the back?"

"Yes, but I've just had Ros on the phone and she overheard Roscoe instructing Doyle to take you out in the mayhem they are planning for tomorrow morning."

"Oh, the second offer to meet my maker within a matter of hours, I must be doing something right."

"This isn't a joke Harry. They mean business."

"Yes, well, our priority at the moment is the safety of the Royal Family, not my good self. Now take a look at these profiles Ruth has identified as likely cell members."

Adam whistled under his breath as he skimmed through the details

"Quite a pukka team of near-do-wells Doyle has assembled."

"Well Ruth's list is obviously not complete. According to Coyle there should be three marksmen – one for each side of the road and a third to take out Maser, but it gives us some faces to work with."

"Ok I'll go back and watch the rear, but you stay out of sight Harry, I don't want to give Mace the satisfaction of reading your obituary in the Times."

Harry smiled ruefully at the departing figure of Adam. He supposed he ought to be flattered that Roscoe saw him as such a threat, but he was becoming a little weary of having a target painted on his back. Perhaps after this crisis was resolved he might be able to take a few days off – they might take a few days off together. The thought of Ruth brought Harry back to the problem of her fugitive status – they wouldn't be going anywhere unless le could resolve that; although he did have a glimmer of an idea that would have to stay on the back burner until the cell was safely under lock and key and the rogue CIA and Irish renegades identified and rooted out.

Harry picked up his mobile.

"Hello, yes. Are the Forces in position? Right. Good. Well make absolutely sure that they remain hidden. Doyle has only to have a slight sense of unease and he will bolt. Do nothing until I give the command. Are you absolutely clear on that. No matter what happens you are only to move in when I give the word. Ok. Fine."

He turned to Zaf

"I'll be glad when Special Branch have been cleansed. I'm never 100 per cent sure that the SAS will follow orders. They tend to see themselves as beyond normal jurisdiction." Harry smiled "I ought to know, I used to be one of them."

"I didn't know that Harry."

"Well it was very hush hush at the time and still is not officially acknowledged. We went undercover in the Lebanon to support an Israeli offensive. Obviously very much of a political hot potato, so we had to be a hundred per cent deniable. Not a comfortable experience, but with a steep learning curve. It brought new meaning to the adage 'trust no one and keep your powder dry'.

"Harry", Zaf looked intently at the screen as Doyle slipped quietly through the front door of his office.

"Good, he must be expecting his guests soon, warn Adam to be extra vigilant."

Ten minutes later the intercom crackled and Adam's urgent whisper came through:

"A blue van has just pulled up in the rear access road. The driver's got out and he's opening the back doors. There are three, five, no six, people getting out. One is Maser, there is a woman, that must be O'Connor's wife. Roddy Heaney is there as well, Ruth was right. They are lifting something heavy out of the back and several other boxes. I think we can safely say that the eaglets have landed."

"Don't move Adam, let them get inside. We'll monitor them on the hidden cameras and try and record further incriminating tapes before we close in on them; I don't want any of this lot walking because of some hot shot barrister having evidence thrown out. Stay there and make sure none of them comes out."

Zaf switched the image on the monitor to reveal the view from the hidden camera that Ros had installed. A variety of Irish accents, including one of a female timbre and one jarring cockney whine were heard conversing rapidly together.

"Are you sure the equipment is all fully functional and can be relied on? We'll only get one shot at this, literally."

"Don't worry Doyle, the rocket has been checked and rechecked and the rifles are mine. The finest that green backs can buy and adjusted to pinpoint accuracy. Stop panicking, take a shot of the amber nectar, you're beginning to lose your nerve, hanging around the British Parliament for too long has made you soft."

"Screw this up and the only thing any of us will be doing is hanging on the end of a rope. These Americans mean business. They make the old days in Belfast look like a teddy bears picnic."

Heaney scoffed "I don't think so somehow. You weren't involved in enough active ops to know how rough it could get."

"Talking of the good old days, Roscoe wants us to take out an additional target tomorrow. One of the senior MI5 Section Heads, Harry Pearce. Here's a picture."

"I don't need a picture, I know about that bastard. He was involved with British Counter-Intelligence in Belfast. He was responsible for turning quite a few of the double-crossing rats that my da worked on. We almost had him too, but the bastards lifted him. I knew he'd joined MI5, but I didn't know he'd risen that high. This one will be a pleasure, I'll deal with him personally. Where will he be?"

"Roscoe reckons Parliament Square; but I don't want you jeopardising the main plan. That has to take priority. If you can take out Pearce and keep Roscoe sweet, so much the better, but the rocket attack on Downing Street and the sniper attack in the Mall, have to be the main focus."

"Well" said Harry, not apparently disconcerted at listening to his own assassination being planned "I think that just about wraps that up on the evidence front. Have you got all that clearly recorded Zaf?"

"Oh yes, every treacherous syllable in triplicate."

"Fine, time to call in the cavalry and pull the net tight." He picked up his phone:

"Hello Adam, I'm about to call in the Special Forces. Go in with them, but watch out for bobby traps and you'll have to hit hard and fast or they'll try to blow you all to kingdom come." Harry quickly redialled "Hello, this is Harry Pearce. The suspects are all inside. You can send in your forces. Be prepared that they are armed with high velocity weapons, rockets and probably grenades, so the attack has to be quick and decisive. Try and keep them alive but it's not a priority."

Suddenly the road was swamped with shadowy, masked figures carrying heavy weaponry. They moved silently forward until without warning the sound of breaking glasswas instantaneously followed by loud explosions, as stun grenades and tear gas were thrown in through broken windows. The front door was flattened and troops poured in from all sides as the sound of rapid gunfire was heard from inside the building accompanied by staccato flashing lights. Zaf leapt out of the van and followed the soldiers through the darkened hallway that was momentarily lit up by the iridescent flashes of light from the firearms that illuminated the front of the house like exploding fireworks.

Harry, playing wise tortoise to Zaf's hare; was less inclined to rush in to have his ear drums damaged. He paused outside the ops van until the noise of firing stopped and Adam emerged through the front door, breathless but unharmed.

"Two dead, the rest disarmed and an impressive arsenal of weaponry. Our friend Heaney must have had a generous budget, he didn't buy this little lot down at Guns R Us."

"Well we'll discuss that with Doyle back at Thames House. Get the remainder of them taken to a high security police station, Bow Street is probably the closest and I want red alert security. No one in Special Branch is to be informed or heads will roll. I don't want the hangers on going to ground until we've identified who they are."

"That could take some time."

"With Heaney and the O'Connors maybe, but Doyle is a pragmatist. There's too much of the politician in him not to want to do a deal and survive to fight another day; especially when he knows we have Coyle and the Sword of St Michael is a spent force. Meantime we need to apprehend Roscoe. We've enough evidence on tape to incriminate him for his involvement with the assassination plot but it will only be a matter of hours before the CIA hear about his involvement and demand his extradition and by then we need concrete evidence to keep him in custody in the Uk and then we can also deal with his involvement in Jo's murder.. Contact Ros, find out where she is and then you and Zaf bring him in, but keep Zaf on a leash, Roscoe won't be any good to us in a body bag."

"Wouldn't that be more straightforward?"

"Yes, but we are not a lynch mob. Where possible we live by the rule of law. I'm all in favour of taking a step outside the circle if the situation demands it, but we have more to gain from forcing a public acknowledgement of Roscoe's part in the operation and in Jo's death from the American authorities than simply dumping him at the bottom of a gravel pit. Even if, which seems likely, the case is not allowed to go to open court it still gives us leverage."

"Well justice had better be done and not just appear to be done."

_Interrogation Room. The basement of Thames House. Two figures on two sides of the table are seen glowering at each other. Doyle is subdued with a nervous flicker in his eye. Roscoe is pale and shaken, sporting a purple bruised eye and a swollen split lip._

"Oh, if it isn't Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid; haven't you learnt by now Mr Doyle that associating with American outlaws will all end in tears before bedtime?" Harry arrived in the room, flanked by Adam and Zaf and two security guards who took up position by the door.

"Clandestine American support of illegal Irish activities on the Uk mainland, it really is like stepping back twenty years. In fact twenty years is probably the minimum you're looking at. Although in your case Roscoe, I think we can be generous enough to hand you back to the American authorities – as long as they promise to hold your trial or what passes for a trial, in Texas."

Harry gave the full force of his 'death stare' at Roscoe.

"You shot an innocent young girl through the head because she was carrying out her surveillance job. You are lucky you are not already in a ditch in Essex somewhere with a bullet in your brain, certainly that's what my colleagues felt should be your end."

"You can't prove I was involved in any crime." Roscoe broke the silence with his nasal whine.

"I can and I will" said Harry in a quiet voice. "You're only hope of staying out of the electric chair is to sing very loud and very clear. We want the names of all known contacts and supporters of Sword of St Michael in the UK amongst politicians, security services and the CIA."

"How do I know you'll keep your word? You didn't with Mary Kane."

"Yes, but she wasn't as useful to me as you could be. I've always wanted a pet CIA operative in my pocket that I could control and if you play your cards right and co-operate that could be you,"

"What about me?"

"Ah, you would like a deal as well would you Doyle? Unfortunately you are rather the wall flower in this situation, you are not quite such an attractive proposition. Despite your opinion to the contrary, the IRA dog has had its day. The British Intelligence forces are no longer interested in tracking its members, the organisation is defunct, so what exactly have you got to offer that I might be interested in?"

"I can tell you about the Sword of St Michael operations."

"Then" said Harry with a tight smile "I might be open to persuasion."

Meanwhile the interrogation was being observed by Ruth, Malcolm and Ros through the glass window.

"Why is he interviewing them together?" enquired Malcolm in a puzzled tone "Surely it would be better to work on them separately to open up their weaknesses?"

"Ah but" interjected Ros with a knowing supercilious smile "he his exploiting human nature, playing one off against the other like an auction of promises. High risk but rewarding if you understand human foibles and I think Harry is a master of that." Ruth smiled her appreciation of Ros's high opinion of Harry's capabilities.

Harry continued "Before we get down to details gentlemen, you might like to listen to this recording to help clarify your thoughts and sharpen your memories." He nodded to Zaf who played back the conversation between Doyle and Heaney they had recorded at Doyle's office. Doyle groaned and put his head in his hands whilst Roscoe stared grimly at the table.

"I didn't know you took our encounters so personally Roscoe that you would go to such lengths to get rid of me. I suppose I should be flattered but somehow the prospect of my imminent execution leaves a bad taste in my mouth so I'm going to relax with a shot or two of single malt to wash it away whilst my associates work on your statements with you."

Both men looked nervously after Harry's retreating figure, as if, ironically, the person they had been plotting to murder was the only one who stood between them and their executioners.

Harry came through and shut the door. "We'll leave them to stew overnight. Make sure it's not a comfortable one Ros. Any enquiries from Portman Square and we have no knowledge of Roscoe's whereabouts. Is that clear?"

"As Pilkingtons, Harry."

"Fine, I'll see you in the morning."

By this time Adam and Zaf had joined them and Harry addressed them jointly: "well done all of you. There are quite a few loose ends to tie up but we have the main conspirators, the armaments and the snipers, so Brenda can breath easy tomorrow morning and I'm saved from another painful Cobra meeting with Juliet at the helm. Go home all of you and get some sleep, you've earned it. Ruth, you come back in my car. I'm afraid you'll have to travel in the footwell. Tomorrow we'll see what can be done about your situation."

Adam and Ros glanced complicitly at each other over Harry's head. His hail-fellow-well-met tone of addressing Ruth wasn't fooling anyone, but they went along with the pretence to save him embarrassment. As soon as they exited Adam said to Zaf "time to call in you book I think."

Zaf smiled back sadly at Adam "I'm happy for them, but somehow this doesn't seem like a time for celebration."

_Scene: Harry's Car. Harry is sitting in the driving seat, having dismissed his driver and Ruth is curled up under a blanket on the floor behind the passenger seat._

"Where are we going Harry?" came the muffled voice from under the blanket.

"My house" replied Harry softly. "I think we both need some time to relax after the excitement of the past few days."

"Oh yes" said Ruth with obvious relief in her voice "that will be heaven: some warm food, a shower and a night in front of the telly. Something normal would be extraordinary."

Ruth's simple domestic vision filled Harry with happiness. He was determined that somehow they would find a way of legitimising her position. The prospect of endless opportunities for evenings in , a deux, in his lonely house, was irresistible – Ruth in his house, in his life, was now going to be the focus of his efforts.


	18. Chapter 18

_**New York, New York**_

_**Chapter 18**_

_**Note : there will be some adult content in this chapter**_

_Scene: Harry's Living Room. Late evening._

Ruth emerged from her shower dressed in a set of Harry's striped Gieves & Hawke pyjamas. The trousers were rolled over several times on the waist and the top swamped her slight frame, but the material felt warm and soft and smelt reassuringly of Harry's cologne. Her hair hung in damp tendrils around her pale face. The bruising had faded to faint shades of yellow which gave her an unhealthy hue close up, but at a distance and in the ambient light of Harry's living room she looked like the old Ruth. Physically she was better; apart from the odd twinge, the pain in her kidney had gone and the internal bleeding had cleared up, leaving only a slight residual tenderness which was dulled to insignificance by the painkillers that she was still taking. Mentally however, she was feeling fragile, as though in the midst of a particularly acute bout of PMT's.

Harry smiled up at her as she came to join him on the sofa. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently.

"They look a lot more becoming on you than they do on me."

"That I find hard to believe, but base flattery will get you everywhere."

"What would you like to do for what remains of tonight?"

"Not much, I feel completely drained."

"In that case I suggest a pot roast supper which should be ready in an hour and meanwhile a suitably indulgent DVD."

Ruth lay back against him to kiss her assent when an overwhelming sense of relief hit her and suddenly as if flood gates had opened, she began to sob uncontrollably. No smart, throwaway remarks came from Harry; he just sat quietly and held her.

"I, I, I …I'm sorry H, h, Harry. I just c, c, can't stop."

"It's all right Ruth, it's a reaction to all you've been through over the past few days, just let it out."

He cocooned the hunched, shaking form close to his body and repeatedly kissed the top of her head, whilst stroking her arm sympathetically. Eventually the convulsive sobs turned into spasmodic hiccups of grief. Ruth turned and putting her arm around Harry's neck, placed her tear-soaked cheek next to his and whispered in his ear:

"I love you Harry Pearce, most dearly. You are the kindest, most gentle person I know."

"Hmm, well don't tell the JIC that, it will ruin my image. Now how about that DVD. I've a choice."

Harry leaned forward and picked up two DVDs that he had placed on the coffee table: 'Red Shoes' and the latest BBC adaptation of 'Jane Eyre'.

"You can have the favourite, guaranteed to please or the latest costume drama that you missed out on during your stay in the Big Apple."

"When did you have the time to buy these?" Ruth smiled her delight at Harry; not simply for the choice available to her, but more for the thought behind them – that he had taken the trouble to visit a store specifically to choose things he thought she would like.

"Both are perfect. I think I'll save 'Red Shoes' for when my tear ducts are more fully under control; so Mr Rochester, I think it will have to be plain Jane risks all for her master and gets her man."

"Oh" whispered Harry in her ear with a throaty growl "definitely not a plain Jane, but this master is available any time so long as it doesn't involve losing a hand or buying a much bigger dog – and even then …."

Ruth truncated his sentence by kissing him on the mouth.

"You can take analogies too far Harry. Just put the DVD in."

Ruth lay back with her head against Harry's chest and gratefully lost herself in the great romance that enfolded on the screen. Harry, less enamoured of nineteenth century romantic fiction, was content to bask in the happiness of having Ruth safe and with him. He too felt drained after a long stressful op; but unlike most similar previous scenarios, he was not unwinding on an empty sofa with a tumbler of whisky, but this time comforted by the warmth of the soft form that snuggled into the contours of his body. The aroma of a subtle oriental-scented perfume wafted to his nostrils and sent a frisson of desire coursing to his brain. His response was just to squeeze her imperceptibly tighter. He didn't want to spoil this magical ambience of tranquillity and companionship. He moved his head downwards very slightly and inhaling the scent of his own Penhaligan soap on her skin, brushed his lips across her bare neck.

"Don't disturb me Harry, I'm indulging in two favourite fantasises at once."

"Which are?"

Ruth giggled her reply: "Being loved by Mr Rochester and Harry Pearce."

Harry snorted "The longer I live, the less I understand women."

"You don't have to understand them, you just have to adore them."

Harry's arm crept around Ruth's waist and squeezed: "Oh, I think I can manage that."

After one complete episode of 'Jane Eyre' Harry served up the hot pot. He brought two plates of steaming, fragrant food out of the kitchen on a tray, on which was also balanced a basket of thick-cut slices of wholemeal bread and a bottle of Burgundy and two glasses.

"All that beauty and you can cook too! What's your daily rate?"

"Oh you couldn't possibly afford me."

"I can't possibly not afford you" Ruth replied with a meaningful catch in her voice. Harry smiled at her and leaning over kissed her cheek "Anyway you'd better taste it before you commit yourself."

After they had finished and Harry had cleared away the plates, Ruth excused herself from watching anymore: "I'm just so exhausted Harry, if I sit here any longer I'll fall asleep and I think you've had enough of carrying me around. Do you mind if I go to bed?"

"Certainly not, as long as it's my bed this time."

Ruth smiled painfully as she recalled the last occasion she had slept or rather, not slept in his house. "Don't worry I'm not going to bolt in the middle of the night, you're stuck with me."

Harry stayed downstairs for half an hour, clearing up in the kitchen and briefly catching up on the news. By the time he had finished in the bathroom Ruth lay asleep on her stomach, curled in a semi-foetal position on his bed, she had discarded the pyjamas and lay invitingly naked under the sheets. She felt through the haze of sleep a touch of fingers caressing her leg and smiled at the comfort her dreams could bring her. Then she sensed a warm, heavy weight pressing down on the mattress next to her and the faint scent of Eau Sauvage mixed with fragrant spicy undertones and the dusky aroma of a male body in close proximity. Now fully awake, her heart started to pound and she held her breath as she felt her legs gently parted and a strong finger inserted softly inside her, gently seeking the wetness that was instantaneously yielded. The finger slid out and rhythmically began to massage her. She moaned with pleasure and her fingers gripped the pillows that surrounded her. She tried to move her head to look at Harry, but he shifted his position and two broad hands covered hers, pinning her to the bed. She felt his weight bearing down on her as he lay across her spread-eagled form, his body covering hers, caressing her, following the contours of her undulations. Ruth closed her eyes and gave herself up to the intensity of sensation. Always in the past she had recalled favourite fantasises at the point of orgasm, to ensure that it succeeded and she did not leave her partner with a feeling of inadequacy; but with Harry it was different. Her feelings for him were so intense and her confidence in his prowess as a lover already so secure that she could surrender herself to pure sensation, knowing the problem would not be to climax but rather to sustain the anticipation of it long enough to intensify the experience. This time, before she had tipped over the edge the warm sensual voice whispered into her ear so close she could feel the vibration inside her head "Is this alright Ruth? I don't want to hurt you."

"Mmmm", she moaned her assent: "It's fine, please don't stop."

Nudging her legs wider apart Harry entered her slowly and deliberately. Ruth gasped at the sensation as she felt him fill her. She had had him inside her before, but when she was in the free fall stage of orgasm, when everything is pure sensation but also experienced as though detached from the body. Now she could feel and savour every movement and every corresponding involuntary contraction. After several shallow thrusts Harry penetrated her completely and lowered the weight of his body onto her back until his face rested next to hers:

"Now I feel I've truly come home" he whispered softly into her ear, his voice trembling and hoarse with emotion. Ruth's reply was to intertwine her fingers with his and turning her face to look into the liquid gold hazel of his eyes reached up and kissed him repeatedly. She savoured this perfect moment of the union of emotional and physical desire. Love, passion, fulfilment; the mental sensation was so intense it was almost unbearable.

"Oh Harry, I love you, I love you, I love you" she began to kiss him urgently and he responded by enveloping her small frame in his arms and gripping her shoulders as a brace to lever himself, began to trust into her with increasing urgency and power. Ruth lost coherent thought and gave herself up to the delight of overwhelming desire until the enticing moans of pleasure accelerated into laboured screams: "Oh yes! Oh please, more! Oh God yes!" For once Ruth's incoherence was welcome and spurred Harry on to a climax which seemed to continue beyond the physically possible, ejaculating into the warm hidden interior that enveloped him and claimed him with rhythmic pulsations.

"Stay as you are inside me" murmured Ruth as they lay exhausted on the bed bathed in cooling sweat.

"I'll squash you Ruth" Harry protested faintly

"Then I'll die happy" she replied with a contented smile.

Harry compromised by finding sufficient strength to lever himself up and rest his weight on his arms that he placed parallel to her shoulders, his hands caressing hers and his lips kissing the side of her face as she lay immobile on the pillow.

"Don't leave me again Ruth, please, ever. I've had enough of solitude to last a lifetime. I think that we both deserve some happiness and I just won't stand for another miserable year like I've just had to live through. Ruth you're mine body and soul – please accept it!"

Ruth twisted around under him, damp flesh slipping against damp flesh and looked up into his eyes with a playful smile forming at the sides of her mouth:

"Oh Mr Rochester, I do love it when you're masterful. Perhaps you should be encouraged to watch more costume dramas Harry, it's good for your romantic soul."

Harry responded to her teasing by pinning her down with the weight of his body and tickling her beneath the ribs. Ruth convulsed and shrieked out "Alright, I submit, I promise never to leave your side, you are my mentor, my master, my mirror soul …."

Ruth snorted and gasped for air as the tickling was resumed "Stop! Stop! Pax! I can't breath!"

Harry obeyed but kept his body weight on her and moved his hand lower stroking her thighs whilst kissing the side of her neck.

"I'm glad we got that sorted out" he urged in a husky tone; "now I suggest that we get some sleep. I'll need my wits about me tomorrow." Harry didn't elaborate further on his plans and Ruth was happy to snuggle down in his warm, aromatic embrace, enchanted by the proximity of his body, his moist breath upon her neck and his strong arms possessing and encircling her . She reflected that she knew how Juliet felt, never wanting the night to end or to face the separation that the dawn would bring.

"_Come Night, come, Romeo, come, thou day in night,_

_For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night,_

_Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back. _

_Come gentle Night, come, loving, black-browed Night,_

_Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die,_

_Take him and cut him out in little stars,_

_And he will make the face of heaven so fine_

_That all the world will be in love with night_

_And pay no worship to the garish sun._

…………

_Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day:_

_It was the nightingale, and not the lark,_

_That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;…_

_Art thou gone so, love, lord, ay husband, friend?_

_I must hear from thee every day in the hour, _

_For in a minute there are many days._

_O by this count I shall be much in years_

_Ere I again behold my Romeo!"_


	19. Chapter 19

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 19**_

_Scene: Holding Room in Thames House. It has a bed, table and chair; a sofa and separate bathroom. It is comfortable if somewhat sparse, rather like a motel room; but there are bars on the window and locks on the outside of the door. Oliver Mace is sitting on the sofa reading a copy of the Financial Times when the door opens and Harry walks in._

"Good morning Oliver. I trust they are treating you well? At least treating you better than you deserve."

"Oh Harry, what brings you to my des rez? Come to gloat or are you carrying my death warrant?"

"Neither Oliver, I've come with a proposition."

Harry sat down fastidiously at the opposite end of the sofa to Mace and crossed his hands in his lap, whilst Mace eyed him suspiciously.

"I would hardly think you need to bargain with me."

Mace paused as the light began to dawn on him.

"Of course, your Achille's heel, the delightful Ms Evershed. Well, well, so the ball is still in play then?"

"Well possibly but I am the one calling the shots."

"I always thought we were better as a doubles partnership."

"Yes, well, the problem is Oliver; despite being members of the same team we were never on the same side. Anyway, enough of the verbal sparring, let's get down to business."

"You disappoint me Harry, I've waited patiently for civilised communication all night and now you want to barter like an East end barrow boy, but then"

here Mace paused and gave Harry his most supercilious smirk

"I suppose breeding or the lack of it, will out."

"That's your trouble Oliver, being an unbearable snob has clouded your judgement; you'd have supported Hitler if he'd gone to the right school; but I suppose as it is you'd have been more of a Himmler man."

Mace frowned, it wasn't easy to put Harry Pearce down at the best of times, never mind when he was holding all the aces; well of course in this instance, not all the prize cards. Mace leant back with an insouciant air and tried a different tack.

"So what do you have to offer, Harry, that you think would make an attractive enough package to make me interested?"

"well firstly, you're not in a strong enough bargaining position to dictate terms, so a little more humility would be appropriate and secondly, if you wish to re-surface again to smoke vile Havanas in your club and stalk the corridors of power, you had better hope that you come up with a package that makes **me** interested."

"I'm disappointed, I expected a greater degree of subtlety in your bribery that this."

"Sometimes the simplest approaches are the most effective."

Harry, impatient with playing cat and mouse with Mace continued:

"I propose the following Oliver. You will provide me with all the evidence that was used to frame Ruth. In return I will make sure your part in the Cotterdam fabrication is lost. Likewise the kidnapping and.." here Harry narrowed his eyes and leaning in looked straight at Mace only inches from his face "the intended murder of myself and Ruth."

"Come. Come. Harry, you don't think I would actually have pulled the trigger?"

"I think you are capable of anything if the stakes are high enough; but we are not discussing your ethics or the lack of them. Do you accept my proposals?"

"What about the Sword of St Michael?"  
"My hands are tied there Oliver; the CIA and FBI are already involved and so will Special Branch once the rotten apples have been identified. It's up to you to talk your way out of that particular mess."

"What if the evidence no longer exists?"  
"Oh it exists Oliver. You are too cautious not to have left the way open for a future retreat – evidence is control in our world - and if it doesn't exist then you will soon wish it did. I'll send my report on the last few days to the DG and I'm sure this time they will throw you to the wolves with no lifeline: kidnapping, conspiracy to treason – you're looking at a life sentence if not a quieter and more permanent resting place."

"Alright Harry, I'll need to get to De Coutts, to my safety deposit box."

"That's alright Oliver, I just need your number, we'll fetch it for you; I wouldn't want to deprive you of our hospitality before absolutely necessary."

"I suppose I should be grateful that the great Harry Pearce has found love in his declining years or my bargaining position would not have been so advantageous."

Harry raised his eyebrows in a mock-quizzical look.

"Not decling years just yet. The number of your account lease. I have the rest of

this mess you embroiled yourself in, to sort out today and you're not leaving here until the Cotterdam evidence has been verified and accepted by Scotland Yard and Special Branch and submitted to a meeting of the JIC as well as the DG."

Mace sighed and wrote a number out on the notepad that Harry extended to him.

"Noone has time for civilised conversation these days."

"Don't worry Oliver, you will soon be ensconced back in your club, along with your public school cronies, swigging good claret and berating the loss of the Empire and the decline in moral standards amongst the lower classes."

It was only the guard at the door who was privy to the triumphant glint in Harry's eyes as he strode purposefully through the entrance and took the steps two at a time that led to the main entrance of the building.

_Scene: The Grid. Meeting Room. Adam, Zaf, Malcolm, Ros and Juliet are gathered around the table; chatting amongst themselves._

"I really think it's too much of Harry to call me down here and then not turn up on time. In case he hasn't noticed I have a Security Council to run."

Adam reassured the tetchy Juliet:

"He's on his way, he phoned me two minutes ago to send his apologies and say he has been held up but is en route."

Just as Adam finished speaking Harry's broad figure sprung through the door and marched up to the head of the table; closely followed by two men.

"Apologies for keeping you waiting, our guests were delayed at Heathrow. Harry turned and indicated to the two strangers to sit down. He addressed the dark-haired man first:

"Adam you already know, these are his colleagues Zafar Younis, Ros Meyers and and Malcolm Wynn-Jones and our Chief of Security Juliet Shaw – Everyone, this is Michael del Torro, Head of the Federal Investigation Bureau in Washington, who was an invaluable help in tracking down Asim Maser and also incidentally saved my life and Adam's – so you may or may not want to thank him."

Harry smiled broadly at his own joke to the bemusement of his staff. He then turned to the second man

"Let me also introduce Justin Bronsky, UK Section Head at the CIA HQ in Washington, Not surprisingly Mr Bronsky would like to know everything we have on Roscoe, which might take the rest of the week."

This second attempt at ribaldry drew further incredulity from those that knew him. Juliet whispered crossly to Adam "What the hell's got into Harry today – is he drunk?"

Adam had an inkling what lay behind Harry's new jocular persona, but he just shrugged his shoulders in reply to Juliet.

Harry sat down and re-focused his mind on the meeting.

"Right, first we'll deal with Roscoe, as he pertains to the enquiry of our transatlantic colleagues, who are anxious to conclude their investigations as soon as possible. Adam would you care to start the proceedings with a summary of our observation of Roscoe and our knowledge of the extent of his involvement with the Sword of St Michael conspiracy."

"Well as you know, we began our investigation in the US; on the basis of information received from a former colleague who was working in New York and overheard a conversation between Roscoe and several other unidentified operatives, thought to be CIA, discussing arrangements for an assassination attempt on the Royal Family using a Muslim as a stooge."

Bronsky interrupted "How did your colleague know it was Roscoe?"

"She recognised him; their paths had crossed several times before. Anyway, on the basis of this information Mr Pearce and I travelled over to New York and then down to Washington, whilst Roscoe flew back to London. The encounter with Sword of St Michael and Seamus Coyle and his henchmen is known to both of you so we'll move on to events subsequent to our return to the UK.

Our agents picked up on Roscoe as he came through Heathrow and shadowed him, hoping he would lead us to other contacts who supported the Sword of St Michael and maybe even to the cell itself. Initially it seemed like a dead end. Roscoe trailed round the gay bars and sex clubs of Soho, but had no direct contact with anyone associated with the conspiracy. In a separate line of enquiry we had identified a certain Roddy Doyle and a series of ex IRA activists as possible members of the cell. Several politicians including an ex Cabinet Minister and a parasite from the Downing Street office were amongst a list of 15 sympathisers identified at Westminster, but Roscoe didn't contact any of them directly. Then suddenly without warning he shot and killed an MI5 officer who was routinely following him, and disappeared."

Zaf breathed deeply and looked down at the desk digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands to help repress his emotions. Adam briefly glanced across at him and continued:

"We shadowed Doyle hoping that he was the operative that Roscoe was intending to liase with and for which meeting he was willing to kill an officer of the British Security Services. We were fortunate enough to have followed the right hunch. Roscoe met Doyle in an Irish Bar in Soho and was overheard not only discussing the conspiracy in detail but also ordering Doyle to carry out the execution of Harry Pearce at the same time as the rocket attack on Downing Street. My colleague Ros Meyers, continued to shadow him, so I'll leave her to take up the report."

Ros smiled a terse half smile at the two Americans and resumed the report:

"Roscoe left the pub and immediately returned to his flat. At about 11.00pm he emerged with his bags and took a taxi to Heathrow. He booked himself on a return flight to New York which left at 2 am." At this point Ros put up surveillance pictures of Roscoe going through the departure gate at Heathrow. "His return is booked for tomorrow morning. It's obvious that he wanted to create an alibi for the time of the assassination in the event that something went wrong."

It was del Torro who interrupted this time:

"Well something obviously has gone wrong, so why did you let him leave the country?"

Ros looked coldly across at del Torro and replied with an equally glacial tone:

"If we had apprehended Roscoe it could have spooked the cell and we could have ended up with nothing except a dispersed group of active, dangerous terrorists, still determined to create mayhem. As it is we may have one more deranged pervert on the loose in the US who you will need to round up but the operation has been successfully concluded. In any case, Roscoe may still come back, if he thinks he can bluff his way through. If his nerve holds, it will be his best chance to survive the failure of the Sword of St Michael plot. He knows we have no direct evidence to link him to the death of the MI5 officer – the gun he used was Uk supplied and he had no contact with the car or the officer so no DNA and there were no witnesses or CCTV in the area. The links with Sword of St Michael will, knowing Roscoe, be similarly tenuous to establish." Ros turned and smiled sarcastically at the CIA agent:

"As you have all the profiles on Roscoe and appointed him Head of Section Operations in the UK, I'm sure you have a clearer idea of what you think he will do – scarper or bluff it out?"

Bronsky ignored the implication that they had fouled up in Roscoe's appointment:

"If I were him I'd disappear. He knows that we don't take kindly to public humiliation by one of our own and that sometimes the justice metered out is, shall we say, immediate. You Brits should not have let him go and you should have contacted us and put us in the picture earlier so we could at least have apprehended him when he got over to New York. We are meant to be on the same side or did the Yalta agreement pass you by?"

Harry decided to intervene before a more heated debate on the merits of CIA recruitment policy and the efficacy of the entente cordiale of the Nato allies developed into a more heated exchange between Ros and Bronsky.

"So we will presumably see if Roscoe returns to the UK tomorrow and meanwhile you will take steps to locate him in the US. Right. Moving onto Sword of St Michael. The UK side of the operation is pretty well sewn up. Two of the cell died in the raid last night. The surviving five terrorists, including the Irish contingent of Doyle and the O'Connors, are being held at Bow Street at the moment. The English leader of the cell has been identified as Roger Hamilton, who I think has been on 6's radar for some time."

Here Harry turned to Juliet for confirmation:

"Yes, Hamilton has been involved with gun running in the Third World for a number of years and more recently had been a mover and shaker in facilitating hit squads for Russian Mafia bosses, both in London and other Western Capitals. If your subordinate has swindled you and then legged it out of Moscow then Hamilton is your man to track him down and arrange retribution that cannot be traced back. He's left a trail of corpses across Europe but never enough evidence to arrest him. It appears from his involvement with Sword of St Michael, that he has decided to diversify; but presumably for cash rewards rather than political conviction. We're not sure of how he came to meet up with the group – Coyle, Roscoe and Doyle are of course all possible contact points."

Bronsky nodded his appreciation of being brought up-to-date:

"We'll see if we can track Roscoe down in New York but in the meantime we want Coyle back."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Bronsky silenced him:

"Before you start I don't want the usual British stone-walling crap; we know your agent picked him up at Heathrow; the Special Branch boys might have gone walkabout but we noted his arrival and Mr Younis's kind concern at giving him a lift into town."

Harry's smiled response to Bronsky that he intended to sweeten the pill of his retort faded as Juliet interrupted his attempt to reply:

"Of course Mr Bronsky, we appreciate your concern and we will make Mr Coyle available, provided of course that we get full co-operation in re-claiming Asim Maser."

Harry scowled his anger at Juliet – coming into HIS department, throwing her weight around. Nor did he think that securing Asim Maser's exclusion from Guantanamo was a sufficient cherry to warrant handing over Coyle before they had fully ascertained the extent of support for Sword of St Michael amongst the great and the good of Westminster & 6. He glared Juliet into silence.

"Well we'll have to fully debrief Coyle to establish the nature and extent of support for his group within the political rank and file; so our definition of 'immediate release' may not be yours, but certainly we will hand him over to you as soon as possible." Harry smiled his politician's smile that did not extend beyond his lips and Bronsky nodded his curt agreement. He didn't appreciate being manipulated by a Brit, but Harry Pearce's reputation was of being a stubborn, intransigent individual, not given to rolling over without a fight and Bronsky did not have time for a fight; besides which Roscoe was more of an issue at the moment than Coyle. One of their own, turned bad in a very embarrassing and public manner – retribution would have to be swift and brutal. The Service had to be seen putting its house in order both in the International arena and at home.

"Yer, yer, whatever" Bronsky waved his hand dismissively at Harry. Not a wise move, even in Harry's enhanced good humour and his customary scowl returned to his face:

"I wouldn't want to detain you any further with our minor domestic issues. It was most enjoyable to have such an open and frank exchange of views."

Juliet drew her breath in sharply at his abrupt and arrogant dismissal of the senior CIA executive – so much for fostering the special relationship, really Harry was insufferable. She interjected:

"Excuse me, but I think that as senior officer here I should be the one to decide when this meeting is finished and I think there are a number of areas we should seek co-operation whilst we have the benefit of Mr Bronsky's expertise."

The rest of the team held their breath as Harry's brows knitted together and he shot a dark, brooding scowl in Juliet's direction who returned it with interest. As the saying goes, you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Bronsky was enjoying the standoff, which he made a mental note could prove useful to capitalise on in the future; whilst del Torro, discomforted by the implied humiliation of a man he had come to admire and trust in the short time he had done business with him, sought to deflect attention from the trial of strength between the two senior British officers and turning to Adam he enquired:

"Do you think you'll have time to show me the sights or at least the inside of a typical English pub, my flight doesn't leave until this evening."

Adam smiled in appreciation at his American colleague:

"Sure, we'll take you out for lunch if you can spare a couple of hours. I know a really cute little place down on the river at Richmond called the 'Slug & Lettuce' or if you fancy a racier time, Zaf here is an authority on chi-chi bars and the more exotic of the lap-dancing clubs of the West End or.." here Adam looked across at Harry with eyebrows raised in an intimation to him to turn his attention away from Juliet "Harry can introduce you to the hidden delights of dog racing."

"Well I'm too broke for gambling and too jet-lagged for clubs; the pub by the river sounds perfect, even if it does have a revolting name."

Adam laughed and slapped del Torro on the back:

"Right mate, you're on!" He turned politely to Bronsky "Do you fancy it?"

"No thanks, I can't be seen to be fraternising with the enemy."

"Who us?"

"No, the FBI!"

Here there was general merriment at Bronsky's joke and the atmosphere appeared to relax. Bronsky and del Torro made their excuses and left with Adam agreeing a time and place to meet up with del Torro. As soon as the pods snapped shut Harry turned in rage to Juliet:

"Don't you ever, ever talk to me that way and countermand my authority in front of my team or in front of foreign agencies or you will have my resignation on your desk. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Juliet could see from the fire on his eyes that his gander was well and truly up, but neither was she going to relent:

"Don't you threaten me Harry. You have to accept that I am your senior and have the final say. If you can't tolerate a woman in a senior position get over it or get out. Now open the door and let me out. I've got better things to do than sit here bickering about protocol and hurt male pride with you!"

With that she wheeled herself out of the room with as much flourish as she could manage."

Harry's eyes bulged with annoyance "Bloody woman" he muttered only half under his breath.

When Juliet had disappeared Harry breathed deeply and sat down with the fingertips of both hands spread out in front of him, obviously resisting the temptation to bang is fist down in frustration.

"Right, now we've disposed of the visitors, let's focus on the work in hand. Adam, Zaf, if you can manage not to consume a bellyful of ale at lunch I would like you back here this afternoon with clear heads, to tie up the remaining loose ends of the Sword of St Michael case. We need to squeeze all we can out of Coyle before Juliet ties a red ribbon round his neck and ships him by Fed Ex back to Uncle Sam. Malcolm, make sure all the International airports are watched closely in case Roscoe tries to sneak back in in the next 24 hours and when I've calmed down enough, I'll mend enough bridges with Juliet to start clearing up the political flotsam and jetsam that tied their flag to Coyle's political chariot. We'll leave Scotland Yard to pick over the cell and its tentacles – they feel happy if they're allowed to play with the big boys once in a while."

At that point Harry's telephone rang and he answered it:

"Fine, oh, they're here already, yes I'll come down."

He turned to the team assembled around the table. "That was Reception. The new Intelligence Analyst has arrived."

They looked back sceptically at him.

"Well I hope you're going to treat her? Him? - here Adam looked questioningly at Harry. "Her" he responded sulkily as Adam continued

"Yes well her, I hope you're going to treat her better than the others. It's not good for the team to keep chopping and changing the staff."

"Yes thank you Adam but when I want a lesson in staff management I'll ask you. I think I've had enough ticking off for one day already thank you."

Harry stood up and disappeared. Five minutes later he came back through the door, followed by – Ruth. Immediately she was surrounded by her former colleagues, all kissing and hugging her and asking the same questions at once so there was just a cacophony of sound.

Harry indicated to them all to quieten down and then filled them in on his interview with Mace and his consequent meeting with the DG and the JIC.

"Of course the downside is that that rat has got off scot free, but we do have a full file on him so if he steps out of line again nothing will save him and he knows it and I for one think that the trade-off worked in our favour."

Here Harry looked down at the beaming Ruth standing next to him, who was ecstatically happy to be once again a bona fide member of the Grid.

"Right, whilst we are on the subject of our Intelligence Analyst I would like to make something quite clear." All eyes were focused on Harry

"We have a very hectic schedule in the coming days, I want you all 100 per cent focused which means no furtive whisperings or gossip around the water cooler"

Ruth went bright pink at this and began to fiddle with the papers she had placed on the desk but Harry ignored the warning signs of her embarrassment and ploughed on:

"So I would like to make one thing perfectly clear, Ruth is not only back on the Grid, she is back in my life." Here Harry put his arm gently around Ruth's shoulders and smiled at her "I love her and I hope she loves me" At this point Ruth blushed a much deeper puce colour as Zaf and Adam drummed loudly on the table and Zaf wolf whistled.

"So; " continued Harry bringing his troops into line "there is no need for further speculation or secret betting " here he looked meaningfully at Zaf who just grinned back at him "and we can all concentrate on the threat of international terrorism and not on the love life of the Head of Section D. Ruth remained speechless, partly mortified at being flung without warning into the spotlight and partly delirious with happiness that Harry felt so much for her that he would not only face the gossip of his team but also compromise himself professionally with the inevitable speculation that would follow his announcement, as to whether they had been secretly conducting an affair before she left.

"This" said Adam as they filed out of the meeting room "definitely calls for a party."

Malcolm looked back through the door to see Harry lean down and kiss Ruth lightly on the lips as she began to chastise him for making such a decisive announcement without first consulting her.

"_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_

_Admit impediments; love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove._

_O no, it is an ever-fixed mark_

_That looks on tempests and is never shaken;"_

Malcolm continued to quote the sonnet softly to himself as he made his way back to his station; a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips.


	20. Chapter 20

**New York, New York**

_**Chapter 20**_

_Scene: The Grid. Ruth is hunched over her station, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her, a frown of concentration creasing her brow._

The phone rang and Ruth picked it up, her eyes not leaving the screen.

"Hello" she said in a distracted and slightly cross tone.

"Hi there beautiful" purred a rich, low, caressing voice.

"Harry! I thought I told you not to pester me when I'm working."

"Well this is official business. I have a spot of field work for you."

Ruth jumped up and left her seat, abandoning the pressing task she had been previously focused on. It was only on very rare occasions that she had been required to leave the confines of the Grid and participate in an active field operation and in the last few weeks, since being openly acknowledged as his partner; Harry had made sure that the nearest she got to field work was the walk from his home to Thames House and even then he never left her side.

"Well, what is it?" Ruth burst through Harry's door. It was one of the characteristics of her presence that he had felt the loss of most acutely during her absence and he was certainly not going to start a sentence now that included the words 'knock'. 'first' and 'door'.

"Don't get carried away. Sit down and listen. There's an MI5 agent travelling out to Istanbul via Venice on the Orient Express and I need you to deliver a package to him as he's too short of time to come here."

"That's rather Agatha Christie isn't it Harry? I didn't think anyone still travelled on the Orient Express outside of expensive holiday itineraries advertised in the Sunday magazines and certainly not if they are funded by the British Government."

"Well on this occasion it is appropriate as he is meeting another agent en route and the airport will be more closely watched."

"Well it's not exactly the most exciting assignment, playing postman, but at least I'll have a change of scene, even if it's only Waterloo station. When do I make contact and how will I recognise him?"

"Here". Harry handed over an envelope. "The details are in here, and this is the package." Harry opened his draw and drew out a small square-shaped box about eight inches long, covered in brown paper.

"That's it? That's what I've got to drag across Waterloo Bridge for. I'm sure a well-built carrier pigeon could have managed it."

"Well possibly, but it wouldn't have been able to read the typed instruction sheet as easily."

"Oh very funny Harry. So am I meant to say anything to the agent?"

"No, just try and be as inconspicuous as it is possible for an exquisite creature like yourself to be." Ruth half frowned, half smiled back at Harry. Even now she was never quite sure when he was being ironic and when he was actually revealing his true feelings. She decided on this occasion to give him the benefit of the doubt:

"Juliet's right you know Harry. You are going soft in the head in your old age."

"Hey, less of the old if you don't mind. It's love, not senility that's clouding my judgement where you're concerned."

Ruth glanced through the glass partition walls of his office, the Grid was deserted; turning back she reached over the desk, cradled his face in her hand and planted a passionate kiss fully on his lips, murmuring:

"I think it's thoroughly unprofessional to bring personal relationships into the workplace." Harry felt the pavlovian reflex of an erection forming as he felt the touch of her lips on his.

"Not as unprofessional as I will be seduced to in a minute if you don't go back to your workstation Ms Evershed."

Ruth smiled even more broadly and taking further advantage of having that full, sensual mouth within touching distance, accentuated the pout by sucking gently on his lower lip before gliding out of the door with a mischievous glance back over her shoulder.

_Scene: Waterloo Station. International Departures._

Ruth walked rapidly across the concourse trying to look inconspicuous, but feeling as obvious as if she had been wearing a Teletubbie outfit. She mentally went over the instructions. Rendezvous point back of the newspaper stall adjacent to the departure gate on Platform 6. Agent will make contact at 18.30 hours and will identify himself by the phrase "Fancy meeting you here after so long", to which she had to make the reply "I never believe in coincidence." Ruth knew that this was a small fry task in terms of the average field agent's day, but she still felt a frisson of excitement and butterflies in her stomach as she approached the area of platform 6. She glanced down at her watch: 18.20. Ten minutes to kill. She approached the newspaper stand and bought an Evening Standard. She'd have to read slowly if she was to make it last ten minutes. The station was heaving with commuters pouring up out of the underground and pushing and shoving their way through to where the main trains bound for the outlying green belt suburbs of Surrey, Sussex and Hampshire were lined up. The uncomfortable mental images of concentration camp cattle trucks rose in her mind and mingled with the equally disturbing thoughts of the devastation that a terrorist bomb would cause in such an environment; making her even more nervous.

Ruth glanced down again at her watch: 6.27. Time to edge herself towards the rendezvous point. Ruth folded her paper under her arm and taking the lid off the coffee she had purchased earlier, she nonchalantly wandered across to the stand and manoeuvred herself into the shadows of the space behind it. A hand reached out from behind and grasped her across the mouth, whilst the other hand steadied her coffee. A warm and familiar voice whispered in her ear

"Fancy meeting you here after so long"

Ruth felt as if she was going to faint with shock, her heart was pounding in her chest as the adrenalin pumped around her body. As the hand released its grasp she spun round and shouted:

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"No. You're meant to say 'I never believe in coincidence'".

"This isn't bloody funny Harry. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm the agent you're meant to be meeting."

"Is this some sort of bizarre joke – in which case let me tell you that I'm not laughing? You mean this was all a set up – let's humour little Ruthie who wants to play at being a real spy and keep her happy. Give her an assignment so she feels important and then turn up and humiliate her so she won't ask for any more field work?"

"Sssh Ruth, calm down. I'm not as calculating as you give me credit for. I am travelling on the Orient Express, only so are you – we're off for a four day break to Venice – it was meant to be a surprise not a punishment."

"Oh Harry." Ruth was speechless with embarrassment and excitement.

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to ….. of course you wouldn't … but I was just expecting ….. Anyway I can't go."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm and exasperation.

"Why for goodness sake, as far as I know all you had planned was a pile of paperwork, which can wait."

"Yes, but I can't go on holiday right this minute, I've nothing to wear except these frumpy old things." Ruth gestured dismissively down at the faded Indian print blouse and slightly baggy cord skirt.

"Well obviously, being an experienced spook, I've planned all that out. There's a suitcase of clothes, cosmetics and jewellery already packed on board the train and anything that is missing we'll buy in Venice."

Ruth flung her arms around Harry's neck like an excited schoolgirl and showered kisses on his face. Harry extracted himself.

"I'm glad you've had a change of heart, but if we don't hurry, we won't be going anywhere, our departure is in ten minutes."

He strode out to the ticket barrier with Ruth bobbing along besides him, chatting nineteen to the dozen, the words tumbling over each other as she wanted to know when, why and how he had planned the trip? Where were they staying? (Strictly on a need to know basis she was informed). How would the Grid cope without him if there was a crisis? (Wonderful things mobile phones she was told and anyway at some stage MI5 would have to manage without him, impossible as it might be to envisage.) The interrogation continued as they hurried along the platform and boarded their coach: where would the train be stopping? How long would it take? When would they arrive in Venice? Did they have time to see the mosaics at Ravenna and Giotto's Scrovegni Chapel at Padua? Harry held up his hands in protest laughing

"Please Ruth, you're going to exhaust me before we've started. Just enjoy the holiday as it unfolds. You don't have to analyse every detail. We have a private cabin on the train, but I thought you might prefer to eat in the dining car, so I've booked a table. In the morning we should see the Alps in daylight and we are scheduled to arrive at the Piazza Roma at 10.00am.

Ruth relaxed back in her comfortable padded seat and began to take in the prospect of a romantic mini-break with Harry.

"It was very presumptuous of you Harry. Supposing I had other secret plans or didn't want to go?"

Harry smiled gently at her, although with less hesitancy than he had displayed on an earlier occasion in their courtship when she had questioned his presumption of booking a table for dinner without her prior agreement:

"Well, I still intended to come. I need a break after the events of the last few weeks, so perhaps I would just have had to cast my eye around for any available women to accompany me,"

"Don't you dare attempt to cast your eye around Harry Pearce or you'll have me to contend with."

Harry chuckled softly and reaching out, stroked her hand.

"I can cast my eye around as much as I want. It will always come back to you. You have been, are and always will be, the only woman I want Ruth Evershed."

The look in Harry's eyes sent shivers down Ruth's spine and caused her heart to start to pound again but for a very different reason. Did he realise the effect he had on her? The vulnerability of her desire and love for him was both frightening and exhilarating. She managed to force a reply out, despite the fact that his gaze was mesmerising her thoughts and paralysing her tongue:

"Well, that's alright then. I wouldn't want to travel on such a romantic excursion with a roving eye that didn't stay focused on me." A sudden thought occurred to Ruth:

"What about this package I was meant to deliver to the so-called agent? I suppose this is a sham as well?" Ruth drew out the box and pushed it across to Harry, who returned it to her.

"Oh no, actually that's for you, but if you consider it presumptuous as well, please don't throw it at me!"

Agog with curiosity, Ruth tore off the brown paper wrapping and opened the box. Inside were three smaller dark blue boxes of differing sizes. Ruth lifted them out and laid them out on the table in front of her. The largest had the label 'Key to my Soul' written on an attached label. The second in size 'Key to my Life' and the third smallest 'Key to my Heart'.

Ruth smiled intrigued:

"This is like the "Merchant of Venice" – not just a coincidence I presume. If I open the wrong box do I have to go away empty-handed?"

"Oh no, with this challenge all three have to be opened, just in the right sequence."

"Which is?"

"Ah, that's where you're training comes in. There are forfeits if you get it wrong."

"Oh yes, and what would they be?"

Harry reached across and whispered in her ear. Ruth giggled:

""You, Harry Pearce, are a very naughty man. Alright, let's presume that the sequence must be logical and linear. They are all the same colour and there are no hidden markings or codes." Here Ruth turned the boxes over and examined them carefully.

"Therefore it's likely that the sequence is connected to either weight or size. Am I correct?"

Harry smiled enigmatically at her.

"You might think so, I couldn't possibly comment."

"Yes, very funny, but you're not a politician. You've set this challenge and stipulated the forfeits, so you've got to participate."

"As yes, but I'm in a win/win situation. If you get them right then my planning is vindicated and if you get them wrong then I enjoy the forfeits."

"You're too fond of getting your own way for your own good."

Ruth's face assumed an expression of concentration, her lips pursed and her blue/grey eyes dilated – an expression that had melted Harry's heart on so many previous occasions and which was having the same affect at that moment.

"Right, I've got a 50/50 chance of being right, so I'm just going to have to guess it. The weight of the boxes doesn't seem to be progressive, but the size does. So bearing in mind that you have an anally retentive approach to tidiness"

"I beg your pardon" Harry interjected his hurt protestation at her assessment of his character.

"Yes you have Harry. Look at the fuss you made about a few stray pairs of knickers (clean ones I might add) on your bedroom floor, or the ornaments placed in matching pairs on the mantelpiece or the immaculate sets of shoes, shirts, ties & so on lined up in the wardrobe in colour sequence – you have an adorable, wonderful disposition, but you are an anally retentive fusspot when it comes to tidiness. So on the basis of that information; gained from deep undercover surveillance" here Ruth's eyes shone with amusement as she glanced seductively at Harry from under her dark eyelashes "I am going to plumb for size sequence. The remaining question is whether to start with the largest or the smallest and as they say that the best things come in small packages, despite the evidence of your good self to the contrary …"

"You can go off people Ruth"

"Yes well hopefully not in the next forty years. Anyway I'm going to open the largest box first and if it's wrong then we'll have to retire to the cabin to work through the forfeits."

"Well, much as I regret your success. You are right. So please go ahead and see if they have been worth the time and trouble."

Ruth impatiently ripped off the thin gold ribbon that held the first blue box together. Inside was a miniature copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets, bound in a rich embossed leather tooled in gold leaf.

"Oh Harry it's beautiful." She opened the cover and inside in Harry's neat, swirling handwriting was the following inscription:

_To my darling Ruth_

_The poetry expresses my soul. Hopefully my voice reading them will continue to captivate yours._

Oh Harry, thank you." Ruth's eyes glistened with tears as she lent across and kissed him on the cheek.

"Go on woman, open the other boxes before you have an emotional breakdown."

Ruth picked up the second box and opened it. Inside was a key nestling on top of a folded sheet of paper. When she opened it up Ruth found she was looking at an official Deed of Covenant conferring on her a half share in Harry's house. Ruth looked up at him horrified

"Harry, I can't accept this. Your house is worth a fortune."

"You sacrificed everything you had to save me without a moment's hesitation. I love you and I want you as my partner in every sense. I don't want you to feel that you are staying in my house – it's our house now, legally as well as emotionally. I won't be moved on this, so don't argue."

"I will argue" she thought to herself "but not now".

There still remained the third box that sat on the table between them and as she went to lift it up, Harry's warm hands reached over and enclosed hers:

"This, Ruth, is just a suggestion. If it's not what you want, just say so."

Ruth smiled across trustingly at him and said with weighted meaning to her words:

"I've come this far Harry, nothing is going to upset me or stop me from being with you." She slowly began to peel off the ribbon from the box. Opening it up she gasped as nestling inside a fragment of deep red velvet was an antique ruby ring set in gold and encrusted with diamonds.

Harry interrupted her reverie, clearly uncertain and anxious:

"I don't know if it's what you like, it can be changed. In fact it can be taken back altogether. I er, I borrowed that agate ring of yours to check the size, so it should fit; but only of course if you want to wear it."

"Harry, are you asking me to marry you?"

"Er, yes. I'm not doing this very well am I; but yes, more than anything I want you to be absolutely part of my life and I want the rest of the world to know that in no equivocal terms. I guess I'm old-fashioned, but I completely and absolutely love you Ruth, you know that. I want to marry you and have children with you, if it happens; but it's up to you. Please don't feel pressurised."

"Yes."

Harry looked quizzingly across at her: "You mean yes you don't feel pressurised or yes you'll marry me?"

"Yes, I'll marry you Harry. I don't need to marry you, because I'm yours body and soul on whatever terms and for as long as you want me, but if you want to I'll marry you now, tomorrow, whenever; just please no big fuss, no large wedding arranged behind my back."

Harry replied by lifting her hand to his lips and then taking the ring from the box quietly pushed it onto her wedding finger, where it glinted and glowed as the light illuminated the faceted depth of the stones.

"Oh Harry, it's exquisite. Where on earth did you find it? How did you know rubies are my favourite stone?"

"Pure deduction my dear Watson. You do wear red a great deal and more importantly, it suits you to perfection."

"Oh Harry, I love you" Ruth slid out of her seat and across to Harry. Losing herself in his arms and his passion.

_Scene: Small discreet hotel in a sixteenth century palazzo with shuttered windows opening out to a view of a narrow canal flanked by fading old houses with crumbling plaster and ornate rusty wrought-iron balconies. The clang of bells is heard in the distance and the sound of melodic Italian voices drift up as workers shout to each other down below as packages are loaded and unloaded off a heavily laden barge, whilst gondoliers glide by silently, plying their trade to gullible tourists. Harry and Ruth's balcony is located on the third floor. The main room is dominated by a huge ornate bed with a half-tester of heavy green and gold brocade that falls to the ground and is echoed in the generous drapes that flank the large windows and fall in pools on the wooden floor. There is only just sufficient room in the remaining surface area for the dark walnut wardrobe and chest of drawers and a small table and chairs. A door opens onto a palatial bathroom, lined floor to ceiling in green and white marble that gleams and shines in the soft, diffused lighting and is made even larger by the reflective surfaces of the over-sized gilt mirrors that line the walls. In fact Harry grumbled on arrival that he would have to remain sober if he wasn't going to end up having a nasty accident in there. As the call of the workmen becomes more insistent in the early morning air, Ruth goes to the window and opening the shutters, leans out and stares in happy fascination at the fairytale scene before her – unchanged for five hundred years, bar the odd petrol-engined barge._

"Harry, do come and look. It's magical."

Harry lay back against the gilded headboard with his arms supporting the back of his head.

"In case it's escaped your notice my dear soon-to-be Mrs Pearce. I am naked and I don't particularly wish to flash my assets at the local population."

"I'm sure the local population would be very impressed Harry; but you're quite safe, the window only drops to waist height."

"Yes, well, your waist height perhaps but not mine; besides which it's also freezing cold, especially now you've opened all the windows."

"Oh come on Harry, don't be such an old stick-in-the-mud. This holiday was your idea remember. Venice is the most beautiful place on earth. Now come and enjoy it."

Harry sighed and grabbing a pale blue silk dressing-gown that lay over the chair, stood behind Ruth, kissing her neck, his arms encircled around her waist.

"This is the most perfect view in the most perfect place." Ruth enthused, her eyes shining.

"To be enjoyed with the most perfect person" murmured Harry; his warm breath on her hair turning to visible vapour as it hit the cold air.

"Now how about you coming back to bed and warming me up again?"

Ruth grasped his arms and squeezed

"Tempting but no thanks. There's a whole city of museums and churches out there and they're beckoning."

Harry groaned "Why didn't I book a weekend in Nebraska?"

"Because you're a romantic soul and because you wanted to have your wicked .." here Ruth turned and caressed and massaged his soft lips with her own "… very wicked way with me."

Harry deepened the kiss, much to the amusement of a passing gondolier who shouted up "Amore, sempre amore."

Ruth detached herself with reluctance "No Harry, paintings not passion are on the menu for this morning."

Harry sighed his capitulation and with a final deep, breathless attack upon her senses, when his eyes softened and glowed with desire, he broke away and set about selecting items from his casual clothes that Ruth would accept as presentable. She was not surprised to see the same beige chinos and blue cashmere jumper that he had worn in New York, make another appearance. Harry's taste in clothes was impeccable but conservative and unlike in many other areas of his life, he tended to play safe in his sartorial choice.

"Do you think it will rain today?"

"It's Venice in the Spring. It can rain at any time."

"Well in that case I'd better take this."

Harry delved down into his suitcase and brought out his beige raincoat.

"Oh God, not the stud-muffin outfit? The chic Italian women will go wild – with laughter!"

"Excuse me, this is Burberry. I almost didn't find it, as it was screwed up in a ball and shoved to the bottom of the wardrobe" said Harry arching his eyebrows accusingly

"Yes well it should have stayed there. Horrible, shapeless thing, it would make Brad Pitt look overweight. I'm not going out with you if you insist on wearing it. I might bump into someone I recognise. Anyway, I've got an alternative, high-tec solution which won't turn you into a walking doughnut."

Ruth triumphantly reached into her bag and brought out an umbrella – "See, it's even Burberry – a perfect replacement."

"Hen pecked already and this is only the first day of the holiday."

"Never mind I'll make it up to you – later!. Now we've got some serious sightseeing to undertake. Venice is compact, so we can easily do the main churches and museums in two days." Ruth started to reel off an itinerary:

"San Marco, the Ducal Palace, the Accademia – you must see the Carpaccio's they're wonderful, the Scuola di San Rocco for the Tintoretto cycle, Titian's Assumpta, the Guggenheim for the modern collection and Verocchio's bronze equestrian statue modelled on you of course"

"What do you mean" asked Harry warily

"Colleoni (big balls)" Ruth replied with a snort " he was a famous mercenary, that's the nickname his soldiers gave him"

"Hmm well don't tell Zaf, it might give him ideas."

Having feasted on the breakfast served up in the tiny opulent dining room of the hotel, Harry and Ruth strolled out into the chilly sunshine of the streets of Venice. Ruth knew the city well and she delighted in being for once the more authoritative member of their coupling, steering Harry through the maze of streets that twisted and turned over narrow bridges and through hidden squares. At that time of year Venice was mercifully quiet, even in the restrained splendour of St Marks Square, but wander five minutes away from the main tourist routes and you find yourself alone along avenues that are eerily quiet, with only the sound of distant vaporetti and the gentle lapping of water against the side of the buildings. Every corner brought new delights: exquisitely decorated shops selling antiques or masks or handmade writing materials or exclusive boutiques with surreal prices. Each window a work of art in itself, draped in a shimmering array of reds and blues and golds and iridescent with the jewel-like colours of Venetian glass; others laid out with the tromp l'oeil intricacy of an elaborate stage design, as the observer is drawn into the make-believe world beyond the glass. At every turn the eye is delighted and beguiled, it is impossible for anyone, never mind a couple in tune with romantic possibilities, not to be enchanted by the magic of that crumbling, delicate city.

West African street traders ploughed their wares of copy Louis Vuitton and Chanel leather goods, always half a step ahead of the patrolling police with whom they performed a balletic daily pas-de-deux, dodging from street to street and square to square with their large plastic bags loaded with illicit booty. Ruth took instant pity on them and wanted to buy bags and belts just as an excuse to ply them with Euros and had to be dragged away by the more pragmatic Harry who patiently tried to explain that it was like giving money to beggars in London – it would encourage even more to flock to the city who had nowhere to live and who were taking trade away from the legitimate shopkeepers; but Ruth remained unconvinced and distributed 10 euro notes to several of the poorest traders despite Harry's pouting disapproval.

After having submitted to a lengthy lecture on the unique qualities of the portraits of Titian and the narrative works of Carpaccio with their intense jewel-like colours and parade of Renaissance social aspirations and traditions where Ruth drew comparisons between her own confinement on the Grid and the limits imposed on the mobility of women in the fifteenth century who were seen peering out of first storey windows at the parade of life and business that was portrayed on the canals and streets below the palazzi; Harry insisted they took a break from their 'Cook's tour' and indulged in a leisurely lunch in a small restaurant Ruth knew that served the freshest and cheapest seafood on the lagoon.

Harry gazed at her across the small intimate table as they both savoured the full-bodied flavour of the local wine.

"For the first time for as far back as I can remember, I can say that I am completely happy and it's all because of you :

'_Ne li occhi porta la mia donna Amore,_

_perche si fa gentil cio ch'ella mira;_

_ov'ella passa, ogn'om ver lei si gira,_

_e cui saluta fa tremar lo core,_

_su che, bassando il viso, tutto smore,_

_e d'ogni suo difetto allor sospira:_

_fugge dinanzi a lei superbia ed ira.'_

Ruth smiled back at him "Flatterer, I'm sure you quote Dante to all the women you meet."

"No, actually, only those whose company I enjoy, who understand the need for quiet, who have a gentle sense of humour, who are principled but not naïve."

"Of course, the Grand Tour invitation. How I wish I had been less cautious then and seized the opportunity to tell you that I could not have imagined a more perfect companion to explore the capitals of Europe."

Harry reached across and held her hand "Well we are in Venice at the beginning of the Grand Tour and at the beginning of our own journey" he raised his glass and smiled at her "to us, new beginnings and new adventures."

Ruth's eyes filled with tears as she clinked her glass to his "to new beginnings Harry but not forgetting old friends, I still miss them. I wish they could have been here to share our happiness."

"I know. So do I. Somehow though our happiness makes a little more sense of this rotten world that we live in. You're a harbour of peace and tranquillity that at one time I thought I would never find and then having found it and had it torn away from me I despaired of ever reaching again. It doesn't make the loss of Danny and Colin any easier but it gives us something to cling onto in the storm."

Ruth insisted on stopping off on their trip up the Grand Canal to photograph Harry outside his eponymous bar which he found highly embarrassing.

"Really Ruth, standing outside Harry's Bar is hardly the most covert action is it. Besides who knows what CIA lowlife I might bump into and I was hoping to avoid familiar faces for a few days at least."

"I'm sorry Harry but you can't come to Venice and not have this photo taken – Zaf will never forgive me if I don't provide him with an image than can blow up to at least poster size."

"Oh, pleeeze – I don't even want to imagine what it might be used for."

Ruth relented however and agreed that their afternoon coffee should not be taken at the overpriced tourist trap but rather in a beautiful and discreet café just off St Mark's Square where a pianist tinkled away at the concert grand that was lost in the corner of the palatial interior that glinted with gold and hinted at the original age of the Grand Tour in its sedate eighteenth century frescoes. Harry looked in his element, his face more relaxed and tranquil than she ever remembered. A smile played continuously at the corners of his mouth and several times he broke into a hearty laugh which quite surprised her. Buried beneath the burden of responsibility and the years of stress was a kind, light-hearted and jovial character – another revelation as she gradually peeled away the layers of defence.

"Definitely no surveillance van and no back-up team" she murmured as she delicately picked at the mille feuille creation on her plate."

"Well I hope not, with the prices they charge here it would cripple my budget to feed all of them."

Ruth and Harry wandered through the elaborate and rather gloomy interior of the Doge's Palace with its seemingly unending succession of rooms displaying Venetian power and wealth but with little apparent aesthetic discernment. "It rather reminds me of the Cabinet Office" whispered Harry in Ruth's ear; although both felt a frisson of empathy as they passed over the Bridge of Sighs. "Definitely a suitable pied a terre for Mace" he commented again as they passed through the damp low-ceilinged prison. The interior of St Mark's Basilica enchanted them however and Ruth declared that Harry had a serious rival for her affections as she gazed up in adoration at the bronze horses in the museum.

In the late afternoon a mist rolled in over the lagoon that shrouded the buildings, blurring the demarcation of land and water, water and sky and gave the palaces the appearance of floating on clouds. Time to take a gondola suggested Harry.

"Oh no Harry they're really expensive and just a gimmick."

"They're not a gimmick – you pointed out that the gondolas in the scenes in the Carpaccio paintings are unchanged in their design today and anyway we can share one with other people and split the cost."

Ruth nodded her assent but felt slightly peeved. Yes, as she had pointed out the gondolas were a rip off but it wasn't as if Harry was on his beam end and couldn't afford to splash out on a romantic gesture. He led the way to one of the main stations for the gondoliers where a dozen or more of the romantic craft were bobbing up and down with the waves. Each had a covered area bedecked with red velvet and gold cushions and ornate gilding. Harry chose one of the largest gondolas that already had several passengers.

"Oh Harry do we have to share?" protested Ruth.

"Don't be silly Ruth it will be more sociable."

Harry stepped down into the rocking boat and the gondolier helped Ruth down to follow him, as she moved towards her seat she tripped and fell into the lap of one of the passengers. A strong arm reached out and caught her. Ruth began to apologise profusely but was interrupted by a familiar voice:

"You had better watch what you're doing I don't want to be accused of molesting my boss's girlfriend in the dark"

Ruth felt herself go faint with shock, "Adam?"

"The very same, I hope the old man has been giving you a good time or he'll have me to answer to."

"And me" chorused several other voices in the gloom. Ruth peered around and identified Zaf, Malcolm and Ros.

"Oh my God. What are you all doing here? Whose idea ….. Well I might have known never to trust a spook!" Ruth looked across at Harry who was grinning in delight at the success of his subterfuge. "YOU I will deal with later! But who is left at Thames House?"

Ros smiled at her confusion "Don't worry we've left Juliet with the keys to Harry's office and the combination to his safe, the decorators were moving in as we left, I'm sure it will all be Duck blue walls and Heals furniture by the time we return." Harry winced slightly at the thought of Juliet installed in his office, but the sacrifice was worth it to see the expression on Ruth's face. Happiness beamed out of her and created an aura that only served to further enhance her ethereal beauty.

They all settled down with blankets shielding them from the cold night air and passed around flasks of whiskey and brandy thoughtfully brought by Adam, as the gondola glided off into the misty gloom, beckoned by the twinkling lights that marked out the passage of the narrow canals. At one point the low murmur of voices in amicable conversation was broken by loud cheers and Adam and Zaf's voices raised above the others "Three cheers for the bride and groom hip hip hoorah." Harry, ignoring Ruth's furious blushes drew her close to him and kissed her softly on the lips as the others cheered and Adam and Zaf sprinkled rose petals on their heads from the flowers they had earlier bought from a passing trader. No one had seen Harry so open and so happy. How long it would last once they were back in the tension and stress of the Grid they neither knew nor cared. In the midst of a life that by it's very nature was one of loss and melancholy, this was a magical oasis. A moment of perfect happiness and camaraderie. As their gondola glided by and the dulcet tones of the gondolier were drowned out by the lusty baritones of Harry and Zaf and the forceful tenor of Adam, a well heeled tourist was heard declaring in a scornful tone "It's hooligans like those that give English people a bad name."

The quote is from Dante's 'La Vita Nuova'

_Love is encompassed in my Lady's eyes _

_Whence she ennobles all she looks upon._

_Where e'er she walks, the gaze of everyone_

_She draws; in him she greets, such tremors rise,_

_All pale, he turns his face away, and sighs,_

_Reflecting on his failings, one by one."_

Well as the Looney Tunes used to sign off 'That's All for now Folks'.

I hope you've enjoyed this magnus opus. Please review for this chapter and what you think (good and bad) of the 'episode' as a whole. Thanks.


	21. Chapter 21

**There's No Such Thing As A Happy Ending**

**This is the alternative or rather additional ending for 'New York, New York' that was requested by some. Be warned, it is definitely in the angst category – so only read with extra-strong Kleenex to hand!! Obviously there is no connection between this fiction & Kudos only to the extent that it their story-line decisions that have driven us all to apply fingers to keyboards!**

Ruth seemed to spend most of her time floating in a bubble of happiness. She had returned from the mini-break to Venice in a state of euphoria. A perfect holiday had been crowned by Harry's romantic proposal of marriage and his even more romantic gesture of secretly flying their colleagues out to join their celebration. Life had swiftly returned to a more even keel however on returning to London. Harry's desk was piled up with documents and his email was so log-jammed with messages it had run out of space – Juliet's occupation of his office had evidently not extended to dealing with the more mundane aspects of the job.

Ruth had happily taken all that he had thrown at her (at one point, literally) as he had impatiently dismissed the communiqués from various departments as 'pointless pen-pushing'. She was only too happy to resume her old post on the Grid: a restraining influence on the mercurial Section Head, the calm in the eye of the storm that was Harry Pearce in action. She was likewise happy to receive curt, barked orders, as long as the over-bearing manner did not extend beyond the confines of Thames House. Indeed they had agreed that there would have to be a very defined segregation of conduct between home and office if the arrangement of Ruth and Harry sharing professional as well as domestic space was going to be workable. Adam and Fiona had managed without problems, as did many other couples within the security service, but Harry and Ruth had the added difficulty of being at different levels of seniority. In fact Harry was still waiting to hear whether there would be further repercussions in regard to their relationship from further up the bureaucratic hierarchy. He hoped fervently that it would not lead to demands for Ruth to be transferred. He had missed her presence professionally as well as personally in the last twelve months and he had no wish to lose her again. It was one thing to periodically tease her with the prospect of returning to GCHQ; it was quite another matter altogether to actually have to contemplate it. Harry was always ready for a scrap with the bureaucratic powers that be, but he had played the card of brinkmanship a little too frequently in the recent past and also he had been ordered by Juliet to keep a low profile after his maverick behaviour in running a clandestine rogue operation on US soil. So he was keeping quiet and hoping that their relationship would stay under the radar at least for the time being.

Zaf meanwhile stalked the Grid armed with a tiny digital camera; rather like an obsessive twitcher tracking a rare bird, he hoped to discover the reticent pair in a compromising intimate situation which would provide entertaining evidence for their forthcoming nuptials, but his vigillance was not rewarded. Harry and Ruth not only had an impressive track record of self-control but they were now able to express their feelings of mutual adoration in the privacy of their own domestic environment. This did not of course mean that lingering glances and moments of sexually-charged intensity could not be discovered; but if Zaf was hoping to record a 'broom-cupboard' moment, he was destined to be disappointed and in any case he was being kept far too busy to have time for more than occasional surveillance of his prey.

Since his return Harry had been even more a force to be reckoned with. The presence of Ruth back on the Grid and now also intimately part of his life had only served to invigorate and energise an already driven individual. If his colleagues and staff had hoped for an easier ride now that Harry had secured the 'love of a good woman', then they were sorely disappointed. He was a positive dervish, whipping up passion and commitment to whatever crisis they were tackling. Implacable in the face of negativity and hostile to any attempt to traduce his staff or thwart his proposed course of action. Ruth's respect and admiration for his moral judgement and abilities only increased in the succeeding weeks; although so too did her anxiety as to what consequences for his health such levels of self-induced stress could create:

"Please Harry, will you promise me that you will slow down. Let Adam take more responsibility."

"Oh, I see you've united with Juliet in her campaign to have me put out to pasture."

"Don't be silly Harry, you know I'm a hundred per cent behind you but there is such a thing as a happy medium. You aren't twenty any more."

"Oh my age – we're back to that old chestnut again!"

"I'm not saying you're past it."

"I'm glad to hear it or I would say that the evidence would definitely not support your contention."

Harry cut off any further protestations or lecturing by smothering Ruth in passionate kisses, the weight of his body pressing her down into the sofa:

"I'm not so easily … put off ……. Listen ….. Oh God Harry have you no sense of shame … the curtains aren't … drawn ………….. mmmm ………………."

Adam and Ros relished the buzz that was constantly generated on the Grid but Zaf was less impressed:

"For God's sake, what's driving the man. I thought he would have better things to do with his spare energy than haunt my waking hours. That's the third time this week that he's caught me on the phone."

Adam laughed appreciatively "Yes, I heard him tell you that any more personal calls in work time and you'd be on honey-trap duty, putting your skills to better use – so do you think you're up to it?"

"That's not the point. Just because he's got it into his head to play superman doesn't mean we've all got to dedicate out lives 24/7 to this damn job."

"Come on Zaf, where's your Musketeer spirit: all for one and one for all?"

"Oh God, all we need is more male bonding in the work place" – an acerbic, frowning Ros joined them.

"I was just saying that Harry is working too hard."

"What he means is that Harry is working **him** too hard."

"Hmm, well in that case there is definitely something to be said for being love's not-so-young dream."

"I heard that." Harry as usual appeared suddenly like an apparition behind them without anyone having detected his approach.

"Harry" responded Ros unfazed "you should be flattered that like Henry V, even in your absence you still command the attention of your cohorts."

"Well if idle gossip can be considered attention then I'll try my best to feel flattered. In the meantime I need you all in the meeting room now."

Zaf rolled his eyes upward in a mock gesture of despair as he hurried after the others who had obediently filed into the narrow room that was dominated by a long wooden table and a large plasma screen fixed to the opposite wall. Harry exuded pent-up energy and focused intelligence as he outlined the urgency of the current situation. Special Branch had received a tip off that a terrorist cell with members of Sudanese extraction were planning an imminent attack on an unspecified military target. Adam looked concerned and frustrated:

"Haven't we any more to go on? It could be any one of several hundred targets? Do we at least know if it's a base or an individual who is under threat?"

"No, there are no details. It was an anonymous tip off."

Zaf interrupted "How do we know it's not a crack-pot or a hoax or even a terrorist cell trying to cause mayhem?"

"We don't" shot back Harry impatiently "but after the 7/7 bombings no one is prepared to take the risk of letting information slide. Better another Forrest Gate than another King's Cross."

"So what are we meant to do? Knock on the door of every Sudanese immigrant?"

Ruth replied on Harry's behalf:"If only it were that simple. A significant number of Sudanese currently in the UK are asylum seekers who have slipped in illegally and are under the radar, many untraceable."

Adam joined in the debate: "So why are we being tasked with looking for the needle in the field full of haystacks? Why can't Special Branch do the legwork?"

Harry smiled ruefully "Because we are better at it than they are and because Juliet's cage has been rattled from on high on this one."

Ruth looked quizzingly at Harry: "I thought Juliet was sitting at the right hand? Who has the clout to rattle her cage?"

Harry smiled back at her naivity: "Ah the mysteries of National Security hegemonies. Personally I've always preferred the 'who you know' rather than 'where you sit' approach to power and influence; but in this case it's the political hierarchy who are bringing pressure to bear. Besides which a potential terrorist threat has been flagged up and irrespective of safeguarding Juliet's peerage aspirations, it is our duty to assess the risk and identify the perpetrators. So ladies and gentlemen to work. Ruth. You contact GCHQ, see if they've picked up any unusual chatter. Adam and Zaf. You trace the known cells that have any links with Sudanese activists, either as members or as indirect contacts. Malcolm. You focus on trying to trace the call that was made, our contact in Special Branch dealing with liaison is Mark Bradley.

Ros looked at Harry questioningly with raised eyebrows: "and what do you want of me, apart from tea and sandwiches of course? Oh dear, I'm sorry – I've left the teabags and pinnie at home – silly little me."

Harry smiled a terse, if exasperated acknowledgement of Ros, he didn't have time or inclination to tip-toe around her feminist sensibilities:

"Well actually you'll have to fetch them because tea lady is precisely what I had in mind – at the Sudanese Embassy." Harry narrowed his eyes and an amused smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he observed Ros rise fleetingly to his bait before she realised the trap he had set for her. He caught Ruth's frown of disapproval. She had experienced and protested at Harry's apparent chauvinism enough times in the past herself not to sympathise with Ros but the blonde would have to learn greater subtlety if she was not going to be regularly hoisted on her own feisty petard by Harry's more agile wit.

The members of the team all busied themselves about their allotted tasks. Harry strode over to Ruth's desk as he was pulling on his overcoat and leant down close to her ear, his low voice rumbling in her head: "I've got to go over and field flying brick bats from Juliet. Meet me at the bench at one and we'll grab lunch somewhere."

Ruth smiled her acknowledgement at Harry whilst keeping her eyes focused on the screen in front of her: "I'll try but I'll have to see how long this takes. You might have to entertain yourself with dancing bread rolls if I don't make headway."

Harry lifted his eyes casually and noticing that everyone on the Grid was absorbed in their work, took the opportunity to kiss Ruth softly on her cheek before he straightened up and walked away towards the pods. Ruth looked up and smiled gently at his retreating figure.

At one pm on the dot Harry sat down on the wooden bench by the side of the Thames that was their favourite spot. It gave a clear vista of the Houses of Parliament and Trafalgar Square beyond. The sun was shining and reflected off the metal surface of the nearby bridge and glinted on the broken surface of the river.

"God's in his heaven, alls right with the world" murmured Harry, mentally adding to himself "except of course for terrorist plans to blow up God knows who, God knows where and according to Juliet it's all my fault!" He looked at his watch – he'd wait until quarter past the hour and then make his way back to Thame's House; he quite favoured a stroll along the river bank – a sandwich and coffee enroute would keep him going until the evening.

"Harry!" Ruth's eager voice caught his attention. He looked up to see her waving to him from the other side as she waited at the traffic lights to cross and he waved back at her. The lights turned red and a bus slowed to a halt. Ruth began to cross over the road when suddenly a car careered past the bus. It was as if Harry was watching a film in slow motion; he could see the disaster unfolding in front of his eyes and yet he couldn't move or speak. It seemed like an eternity, but in fact it was a matter of seconds before he heard a screech of brakes followed by a sickening bang – the car skidded across the road and hit a wall and Harry's life, his hopes, his happiness, collapsed on the tarmac alongside the huddled, motionless form of Ruth.

A nauseating wave of adrenalin hit Harry and he raced across the road towards what he already know, but desperately fought to deny – no one could survive the force of impact of a vehicle travelling at what Harry estimated must have been in excess of seventy miles per hour. Ruth lay lifeless, crumpled on the road, a trickle of blood flowing out of her mouth and down onto the dull surface of the tarmac. Her beautiful eyes were glazed and sightless. Harry picked up her body, cradling it like a fragile bouquet of flowers and began to moan like a beaten animal. A crowd quickly formed and a police car drew up. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder:

"Please sir, we need to check the victim." Harry turned abruptly, his tear-stained face distorted with grief: "Leave me alone, can't you see she's dead?"

"We don't know that sir, we need to check. There's an ambulance on its way."

In the periphery of his conscious brain Harry heard the distance wail of a siren.

"I presume you know the victim sir. Is there anyone we can call to help you?"

"No. Go away."

There was something in the air of authority, even in the midst of shock and obvious despair, that made the policeman hesitate – this was a man who was used to issuing orders rather than taking them. The policeman retired to consult with his colleague and await the imminent arrival of the ambulance. As it drew up Harry stumbled to his feet, lifting the inert body of Ruth with him. He cradled her white, cold cheek next to his and kissed her hair softly and repeatedly.

The ambulance men came across with a stretcher and gently extracted Ruth's body from his arms. "Death was instantaneous" choked Harry "no chance of survival, Oh my God, no hope…" he began to weep uncontrollably and put his hand up to cover his face. The crowd of curious onlookers felt embarrassed in the presence of such raw grief and quickly melted away, leaving a bowed, broken man alone and bereft by the roadside, mocked by the warm glow of the sunshine that only a few minutes before had seemed to hold the promise long summer days of peace and contentment and companionship.

The George

The subdued, saddened group of colleagues sat huddled together around their traditional table in the far corner of the pub. Malcolm was the first to break the silence: "I'm worried about Harry. He's too controlled, too self-contained. It's not right."

Adam smiled through the pain of his own recollections: "we all have to find ways of dealing with grief. Harry always was focused on work; he's reverted to what he knows best, what keeps him going. He's had to deal with the deaths of friends and colleagues before."

Zaf intervened: "Yes, but this wasn't a friend or colleague. This was Ruth, he loved her, she was his world. I know you had the same with Fiona, but at the time you're denial was understandable, you had to hold it together for Wes, but why is Harry carrying on as if nothing had happened, when we all know what he's suffering? Even at the funeral he was impassive, inscrutable and distant – what's he trying to prove?"

"He's not trying to prove anything it's just his personality and years of training, he has to keep everything controlled and repressed" Ros said philosophically " if that's the way he wants to work his way through it then maybe we should back off and give him some time. Respect his decision that this is his strategy for coping."

Adam pondered aloud: "Malcolm is right in a way though; it's not a strategy, it's denial and I know where that can lead – we need to keep a close eye on him, respect his wishes yes, but watch him. I think he is capable of anything."

Malcolm looked across anxiously at Adam: "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that if I were him I would be trying desperately to keep a lid on nihilism but he has a future devoid of hope and anything can happen if the repression and self-control weakens. We must watch closely for any behaviour that suggests he is going to crack up."

Malcolm whispered quietly " I know he's been visiting the grave every night since the funeral. I follow him. He just sits down by the mound. Not moving, not saying anything, sometimes for over an hour. It's horrible, like one of those Victorian paintings of dogs pining by their master's grave. I want to go up and comfort him in such desolation but I don't want him to think I'm spying on him."

"He needs to get away " pronounced Ros.

Adam turned to her annoyed: "Why? Why does everyone always assume that a change of environment will help? Well let me tell you it doesn't. The grief and loss is inside you. You carry it with you wherever you go, whenever you sleep, whatever you look at. Its better he stays here in a familiar environment amongst those who love him."

At this they all tacitly acknowledged a common bond – they all shared his loss of a unique and treasured colleague and they all loved their stricken, wounded boss.

Harry's House

Harry drew the curtains slowly and switched on the electric light. His face was pale and drawn. He had scarcely eaten in the past two weeks and already his clothes were hanging loosely from his frame. Despair and loneliness were gnawing away inside him, a constant sense of blind panic threatened to overwhelm him at every moment and he had to fight constantly to hold back a desire to howl and curl into a ball, shutting out the world that had so destroyed his happiness and his future. Day and night he had Ruth's face in front of his eyes and her soft voice murmuring in his ear. The rational side of his mind told him that these torturous feelings were a natural response to grief and shock and that they would become less acute as time passed; but his emotions dismissed such a flawed argument. For if the sense of loss hadn't lessened in the previous year that Ruth had been away from him, how would the situation now be any different? If anything the experience of intimacy and domestic happiness and the knowledge that this time she would never come back to him would surely make the pain only intensify as the realisation of permanence sunk in.

In the hours and days since that stupid, pointless accident Harry had come to realise that not only could he not imagine he would learn to live with the overwhelming feelings of loss and pain and still function in his job, but increasingly, he didn't want to. What was the point? Duty, yes, the same sense of duty that has urged Ruth to surrender her own happiness to preserve his position – but could he see himself day in day out turning up at his office and having the will to make a difference? With Ruth's death he had lost the desire to fight, to impose his own moral code on the world around him. He had deep regard for his colleagues and particularly Adam, but they could manage without him. No one is indispensable.

Harry stood up resolutely and moved over to his desk. Lifting across a sheet of heavy gauge writing paper he smiled briefly as he recalled Ruth informing him that she had re-stocked his stationary, as it was woefully inadequate for a man who liked to describe himself as 'a pen-pusher'. He wrote fluently and unhurriedly , covering the sheet in his swift, characterful script. Placing the finished letter in a matching envelope he left it face up on the leather surface of his desk. He moved back to the sofa and poured himself a large tumbler of whisky from the bottle that stood ready on the side table. He sat forward and emptied the contents of a medicine bottle onto the surface of the table. He picked up a dozen or so of the pills carefully and methodically with the strong yet sensitive fingers that had stroked her cheek with passion and adoration. Swallowing the pills rapidly Harry sat back and glancing fondly at the framed photograph of Ruth that smiled at him from the side table he murmured aloud:

"_When sorrows come, they come not single spies,_

_But in battalions …_

_I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,_

_And not have strew'd thy grave.."_

"_Is there no pity sitting in the clouds_

_That sees into the bottom of my grief …_

_Past hope, past care, past help …_

_O! here_

_Will I set up my everlasting rest,_

_And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars_

_From this world-wearied flesh.."_

Harry lay back along the length of the sofa cradling Ruth's scarf that still held the faint aroma of her perfume. He closed his eyes, forcing the tears that had welled up in them to trickle slowly down his cheeks. Drawing the scarf closer, he buried his face in its soft folds and turned into a semi-foetal position as if cuddling a body next to him.

They found Harry's body in the same position when they forced open his front door the next morning. In his heart Adam had known what was going to happen, but had felt powerless to stop it. If he hadn't had Wes, he would have sought the same release after Fiona's death. As he put his shoulder against the heavy wooden door with Zaf, he wished more than anything that it wasn't him who was going to have to confront the death of yet another person he loved dearly and yet by the same token he wouldn't have wanted it to be anyone else who had to gently prise the scarf from the cold, stiff hands. Harry looked tranquil, like a baby asleep, except the normally mobile features were expressionless and rigid. Adam gently stroked the side of his dead friend's head and lowering his lips, kissed him on the temple.

Zaf was distraught: "Why did he do this Adam? Why? He knew we needed him. It's the cowards way out. I would never have had Harry down as a coward."

Adam stood up and put his arm around Zaf's shoulders: "He wasn't a coward Zaf, he'd just had enough: 'to cease upon the midnight with no pain' – we're all tempted by it at one time or another."

Malcolm called to Adam in a choked, emotional voice: "There's a letter here Adam, it's addressed to you."

Adam glanced down at the still form on the sofa and grimaced to control his emotions. He crossed over to the desk and opened the letter:

Dear Adam 

_I hope the discovery of my body has not caused you too much distress. I.m sorry to impose this on you, but I didn't trust you not to mount a rescue if I left you any forewarning, although you had probably second-guessed my intentions in any case._

_I'm addressing this to you because you more than anyone knows first hand what I have experienced, but what I have to say about what I am about to do is for all those who feel a link with me._

_I'm sure several of you (Zaf in particular) will feel betrayed and see my suicide as an act of cowardice and I probably agree with them, but by the same token it's the only course of action left for me to take. I spent years alone, repressing my personal life and living solely for and through my career – until Ruth arrived and absurd though it seemed at the time, I discovered an intensity of love and desire I never thought I had the capacity to feel. Yes we repressed out mutual attraction for the sake of professional propriety, but she was still there, still in some small way a part of my life. Even after the Cotterdam fiasco, a small flame of hope kept me going. There is no flame left to warm myself by. _

_Having lived with Ruth and loved her, I cannot go back to my old ways – it's no longer enough. I've been through the arguments: duty to country, duty to service, duty to colleagues, duty to Ruth's memory, duty to live life such as it is until its natural conclusion – none of it is enough Adam. I need peace, I need not to hurt anymore, I need oblivion. I know you love and care for me, but I'm sorry, it's not enough to bridge the chasm._

_So practicalities. My Will, with named executors, is with my solicitors: Page, Page & Hollingsworth. I had always envisaged a cremation, but being a sentimental old fool I would like to be buried with Ruth if possible. If not, then cremation is fine. I only want you and the others and my children if they chose to come, to attend my funeral. Out of choice I would prefer minimal fuss at my shuffling off this mortal coil but if the Establishment hierarchy want to pay their hypocritical respects then they can do so at a memorial service – leave that to Juliet, she's good at organising empty gestures. Choose what you like for readings, but don't make them too maudlin – I had a good life, a successful career – I like to feel I made a difference and for the past few years I found someone who made me completely fulfilled and indescribably happy – so mine was a life well-lived. This is not a tragedy, just a slightly premature end to a good innings. I would not have chosen to end like this – I had envisaged a long and happy autumn of my days, perhaps even fatherhood again, but we none of us can predict our end and perhaps that is a good thing._

_I would like to suggest that you get out of the service Adam and find a healthier career; but knowing that won't happen, I have written to the DG strongly recommending you as my replacement – with your lateral thinking, devious mind and ruthless streak I think you will be a perfect replacement! I have left a bequest for Wes in my Will – only modest, but hopefully it will at least provide choice in his education._

_It's ironic that after all the bullets I've stopped and the high risk operations I've survived, that I shall die in my own home – is that me cheating fate or fate cheating me? – I'm not sure but I appreciate the paradox._

_Live life to the full, enjoy it as much as I have – grab every opportunity that is afforded to you and live it in all its abundance. I don't regret much other than not forging a better relationship with my children and not acknowledging my feelings for Ruth and acting on them sooner, but I certainly do not regret what I am about to do. Your love and your respect has meant a great deal to me and even as I end my life, I do so knowing I did not exist alone and I will be mourned after my death by dear friends, for which I thank you all._

_Harry_

Postscript 

New faces soon filled the vacant seats on the Grid. Adam took over control of Section D smoothly and efficiently but the members of the JIC were a little disappointed to discover that he was equally as stubborn, smart and devious as his predecessor. Adam looked to a future for himself and Wes and relished the challenge of his new position but something broke in him on that sunny morning in early May when Harry's coffin was lowered into the ground. He would go forward and make new friends, face new challenges maybe find someone else to share his life but he would never love as intensively and as wholeheartedly as he had done with Fiona and Harry; he would always hold something back, try to protect himself from the complete sadness and desolation he felt at their successive deaths. Malcolm kept a copy of Harry's letter in his desk and read it whenever he felt he wanted to renew the link with his old friend. Harry's picture stood on his desk alongside those of Ruth and Colin. Malcolm was another spook for whom the death toll had become too grievous, he withdrew even further into his shell much to the scorn of the new recruits who dismissed him as a reactionary throwback.

Malcolm's oration at Harry's funeral had been exquisite and delivered with love and sensitivity as the tears flowed silently down his cheeks:

_"Remember me in your hearts,_

_In your thoughts, and the memories of the_

_Times we loved, the times we cried, the_

_Battle we fought and the times we laughed_

_For if you always think of me, I will_

_Have never gone."_

Adam had been more popularist in his choice, but having searched through countless anthologies he had failed to find another poem which more accurately summed up his sense of Harry's unique worth and place in their hearts:

"_Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,_

_Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,_

_Silence the pianos and with muffled drum_

_Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come._

_Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead_

_Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,_

_Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, _

_Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves._

_He was my North, my south, my East and West,_

_My working week and my Sunday rest,_

_My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;_

_I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong._

_The stars are not wanted now; put out every one;_

_Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;_

_Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;_

_For nothing now can ever come to any good."_

"


End file.
